Poetry

“We always kicked for the same team. We prayed
next to each other on the sajjada during salat.

“As you can see the camps are overpopulated,
and the small parts in between, if somebody
vanishes, getting to them is like a reunion date

Over a tundra of red sand they arrive eager as stadium
fans, with laundry-like sacks and bags, separated into queues:

The UNHCR Somali driver speeds by a small herd
of white cattle prodded along by a desert farmer.
rust-colored dust in its wake clouds barbed-

They told you that their enemies surrounded
the women, the countless rapes fifteen miles
from the border, even on the outskirts around

“When they came to camp, they asked my friend Abdi
if he was ready to join the militia. He said, no.