LOW FLYING PLANES [From metal and yellow underneath the tire]

Hajjar Baban

From metal and yellow underneath the tire flattening I couldn’t decipher the bird or the material which my mother would leave me through, in. I, missing everything, had to turn, believe in reason. Because my mother decided to name me after flight I abandoned rocks I left countries. Emerald that could never be blue and lavender rose. I’ve forgiven every danger just to sleep with no stone in my mind. I kept thinking of my father when his mother passed. When my brother made someone die. So I could tear, beyond imagining what above would fly.