Poems on Politics
In the Schoolyard
I keep all the pencils
I find in the schoolyard.
My mother taught me
Never step on bread.
Bread, a crumb, a morsel.
I keep a pencil for Ashraf who can’t write.
Her palms are bloody and swollen.
I keep a pencil for Behrouz whose fingernails
Were ripped out. He can’t write.
I keep a pencil for Farrokhi-ye Yazdi
Who’d never read
Was sewn shut.
I never step on bread
I lift the bread and kiss it
Then I place it in a safe corner
Away from trampling feet.
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