Poem for Malala
To Malala Yousafzai.
We see it all.
All of it.
The red-stain,
the shame.
We do not feel the skull-shatter-impact,
the moveable plate – the tube,
the tubes.
The blood-bags.
The bags of blood,
the urine.
Your eye,
the eye-blood
that occludes your vision.
Red filters down,
lowering them to the ground.
Our hackles are raised.
Father – Mother
Daughter – Son
Sister – Brother
Niece – Child
Child child child child child.
Somethings are veiled.
It is necessary to veil
what is sometimes a wound,
to cover
to dignify
to protect.
A green veil.
A beaded veil,
the tip of
an eyebrow raises it –
Disturbs it,
for the breath of.
I would sew the sequins myself,
make good the golden threads.
If you must veil,
let it crown you,
let it crown your head,
as laurels, green, on your head. |
Chris Murray 