Episode 47: If They Should Come for Us - Fatimah Asghar

Connor and Jack delve into Fatimah Asghar's incredible poem, "If They Should Come for Us." They discuss the lack of punctuation, the use of the ampersand, the historical connections in the title, brave line breaks, The Dark Knight, the blending of the political and the personal, and much more.

This show starts with a short discussion of a listener response to episode 42, Manifesto on Ars Poetica, and a special announcement (see below). The discussion of today's poem starts at 11:25.

Special Announcement from the start of the show: Close Talking will be featured on a great panel of literary podcasts at the 2019 AWP conference! We can't wait to see you all there!

Learn more about Fatimah Asghar, here: www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/fatimah-asghar Get a copy of her book, If They Should Come for Us, here: www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/56578…0525509783/ Read the poem "If They Should Come for Us" here (or below): www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazi…-come-for-us

Find us on facebook at: facebook.com/closetalking Find us on twitter at: twitter.com/closetalking You can always send us an e-mail with thoughts on this or any of our previous podcasts, as well as suggestions for future shows, at closetalkingpoetry@gmail.com.

If They Should Come for Us
By: Fatimah Asghar

these are my people & I find
them on the street & shadow
through any wild all wild
my people my people
a dance of strangers in my blood
the old woman’s sari dissolving to wind
bindi a new moon on her forehead
I claim her my kin & sew
the star of her to my breast
the toddler dangling from stroller
hair a fountain of dandelion seed
at the bakery I claim them too
the sikh uncle at the airport
who apologizes for the pat
down the muslim man who abandons
his car at the traffic light drops
to his knees at the call of the azan
& the muslim man who sips
good whiskey at the start of maghrib
the lone khala at the park
pairing her kurta with crocs
my people my people I can’t be lost
when I see you my compass
is brown & gold & blood
my compass a muslim teenager
snapback & high-tops gracing
the subway platform
mashallah I claim them all
my country is made
in my people’s image
if they come for you they
come for me too in the dead
of winter a flock of
aunties step out on the sand
their dupattas turn to ocean
a colony of uncles grind their palms
& a thousand jasmines bell the air
my people I follow you like constellations
we hear the glass smashing the street
& the nights opening their dark
our names this country’s wood
for the fire my people my people
the long years we’ve survived the long
years yet to come I see you map
my sky the light your lantern long
ahead & I follow I follow