Scent of Qahwa
by Tara L. Masih
Because desperate men fight always to control something--
this time it is ma’a, the water as it disappears--
this girl will fight through leech-filled swamps,
forge the vast White Nile,
watch sisters go down in crocodile jaws.
She will survive on rainwater,
green flesh of shea nut,
salty porridge of tree leaves,
while skin swells with ticks and
shreds in Kono thickets.
This girl will reach the refugee camp on petrified feet,
find neither food, nor water.
She will stay, fight a kind of death
behind the camp’s truck barriers,
wrestled down, voice smothered in tall grasses
by three militiamen.
She will not sleep,
must listen, listen for sounds of
helicopters, MiG’s, and approaching janjaweed.
Under a Sahara-stained tent,
this lost girl will fight to remember
the scent of qahwa,
the vision of a mother’s desert-dry hands,
dusted in grindings of clove and fried coffee beans,
offering her family their daily drink
in tiny clay cups.
Walking Through Fallen Berries
by Tara L. Masih
“Walking Through Fallen Berries” was previously published in Red River Review online (Aug. 2001) and reprinted in In the Arms of Words: Poems for Tsunami Relief (ltd. ed. by Foothills Press, 2005) and in In the Arms of Words, Poems for Disaster Relief (Sherman Asher, 2005).
Plimouth Plantation, 1992
Distant daughter of Hobbamock,
paid to stand watch over remains
of his past life.
Hut, line, clay pots, baskets—Homesite--
rebuilt for us tourists,
pilgrim land now walked by the world.
I want to know how they survive today,
the Wampanoags,
the rest,
in such hostile territory.
I have to break through character,
through script,
through recitations on clay
and corn
to get to this woman's
heart.
Her war mask slowly cracks
and opens
like a gift,
and I receive
her answer:
"Because we love the land."
How rich, to love so surely it carries you through the death of
tradition,
self,
soul--
or not . . .
And I imagine it is like walking
through fallen berries,
trying to shake free
the heavy, rotten deeds
of past and present
that cling to
a great spirit.
Tara L. Masih has won multiple book awards in her role as editor of The Rose Metal Press Field Guide to Writing Flash Fiction and The Chalk Circle: Intercultural Prizewinning Essays. She is author of Where the Dog Star Never Glows: Stories and Series Editor for The Best Small Fictions. Awards include The Ledge Magazine’s Fiction Award, Wigleaf Top 50 recognition, and a finalist fiction grant from the Massachusetts Cultural Council. www.taramasih.com
by Tara L. Masih
Because desperate men fight always to control something--
this time it is ma’a, the water as it disappears--
this girl will fight through leech-filled swamps,
forge the vast White Nile,
watch sisters go down in crocodile jaws.
She will survive on rainwater,
green flesh of shea nut,
salty porridge of tree leaves,
while skin swells with ticks and
shreds in Kono thickets.
This girl will reach the refugee camp on petrified feet,
find neither food, nor water.
She will stay, fight a kind of death
behind the camp’s truck barriers,
wrestled down, voice smothered in tall grasses
by three militiamen.
She will not sleep,
must listen, listen for sounds of
helicopters, MiG’s, and approaching janjaweed.
Under a Sahara-stained tent,
this lost girl will fight to remember
the scent of qahwa,
the vision of a mother’s desert-dry hands,
dusted in grindings of clove and fried coffee beans,
offering her family their daily drink
in tiny clay cups.
Walking Through Fallen Berries
by Tara L. Masih
“Walking Through Fallen Berries” was previously published in Red River Review online (Aug. 2001) and reprinted in In the Arms of Words: Poems for Tsunami Relief (ltd. ed. by Foothills Press, 2005) and in In the Arms of Words, Poems for Disaster Relief (Sherman Asher, 2005).
Plimouth Plantation, 1992
Distant daughter of Hobbamock,
paid to stand watch over remains
of his past life.
Hut, line, clay pots, baskets—Homesite--
rebuilt for us tourists,
pilgrim land now walked by the world.
I want to know how they survive today,
the Wampanoags,
the rest,
in such hostile territory.
I have to break through character,
through script,
through recitations on clay
and corn
to get to this woman's
heart.
Her war mask slowly cracks
and opens
like a gift,
and I receive
her answer:
"Because we love the land."
How rich, to love so surely it carries you through the death of
tradition,
self,
soul--
or not . . .
And I imagine it is like walking
through fallen berries,
trying to shake free
the heavy, rotten deeds
of past and present
that cling to
a great spirit.
Tara L. Masih has won multiple book awards in her role as editor of The Rose Metal Press Field Guide to Writing Flash Fiction and The Chalk Circle: Intercultural Prizewinning Essays. She is author of Where the Dog Star Never Glows: Stories and Series Editor for The Best Small Fictions. Awards include The Ledge Magazine’s Fiction Award, Wigleaf Top 50 recognition, and a finalist fiction grant from the Massachusetts Cultural Council. www.taramasih.com
