1 poem

by Anjuli Fatima Raza Kolb

Anjuli is a scholar, poet, and translator who lives in Harlem and the Berkshires. She teaches postcolonial literature and theory at Williams College, the Brooklyn Institute for Social Research, and occasionally at City College. She is working on two books: an academic monograph about the colonial epidemic roots of contemporary Islamophobia and a collection of poems after the Urdu poet Iqbal called Janaab-e Shikvah (Watchqueen). Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Bennington Review, Public Pool, FENCE, Guernica, The Boston Review, The Los Angeles Review of Books, BookForum, Reality Beach, and more. 

Colors

 

 

This fucker moon has my death

coiled in her

Lashes it out in the middle

of absurdity hour

Proboscis, fast snake

wicking my eye corners

small throttling

through nape furrest

 

These houses are so close to the road

a dog would die

if it came running out

And this opal sky is pretty

but peachy

in the itchy river

it makes me want to

kill myself

 

To be cloud or cloudy?

he assumes

I guess probably

I bleat, childless

 

Well water named and thirst has been

my adequate companion

She too wines tunes around

my golden death

 

This fucker moon in gaudy sky

is vernal and has

my death in a coil

shakes it slack onto

the slithering night road

 

Snow melt and wood

things rotting

Thirsty earth waking up

and I’ll never eat

or drink again

 

Old lavender sentiment

that doesn’t scare me anymore

 

Old flamingo cloud

that drowns quick