Azza
– “The ceremony of grief”
Women in black rock
their bodies, beat their chests,
girl-children serve, in glass
tumblers, steaming auburn tea
baklava on plastic trays.
Here, tears flow like streams
wet the ornate Persian rugs
and in the courtyard –
where she poured kerosene on her head, struck a match –
silver fish roam the small pond oblivious
tears soak into the soil where nothing grows
but sad sprigs of bitter herbs.
On the other side of the yard men sit
with hookah pipes, crack salted pistachios.
The butcher who was to take the girl as bride
now sits on an embroidered cushion, strokes his twisting gray mustache.
– sholeh wolpe