Published in Issue 64.2: Spring 2025
You can purchase our Spring issue here
Out of the rubble of one war crawls out another.
—Warsan Shire
They didn’t know then,
but when they left
they packed the war
with them
thrown into suitcases,
nestled between cardamom and cinnamon,
wrapped in shawls like china teacups.
Some left their suitcases unpacked.
Didn’t know what was
waiting for them.
For others the war crawled out
crept onto them like a cold jinn,
ghostly fingers slinked around their throats.
The war would whisper
to them in different voices,
those war kinds of noises, you know the type.
And sometimes, the war would sing,
in one of those sounds
only air or a dead mother
could have
and they’d look around whispering
“Who’s there?”
EZZA AHMED is an educator and poet based in NYC. Her poetry is concerned with diaspora, memory, and water (rivers, creeks, lakes, etc.). When she isn’t writing, she enjoys cozying up with a good cup of tea. You can find her poems in Wande Magazine, The Idaho Review, the Ginger Bug Press, Sycamore Review, and Apogee.
