Child Bride Burns to Death
Zahra loved the idea of learning
And so she juggled, starred in a play
Imagine for a second a young child burning
Then try to have a normal day
Are fresh-picked berries any less sweet?
Does the breeze still soothe leaves at dawn?
Does the stream not delight my daughter’s feet?
While in Afghanistan, the fire goes on
dowry/chattel at eleven
Four months pregnant at fourteen
Abused and beaten, a possession
Her final taste was gasoline
I drink a cup of coffee black
Another perfect morning passes
And yet the image keeps on coming back
Can we rise up from these ashes?