Wasted Beauty Aneeqa reads the Turk Bible while traveling
the Holy Land in an area where Israeli soldiers keep constant watch. In
Bethlehem, she crosses a hillside of red poppies with a baby in her arm––a
little girl named Consciousness. “What if every negotiation began with getting
all the vested parties together,” Aneeqa imagines, “and
once they arrive, you close the door & suck all the air out of the room
very fast. Then, only after compromise, plants are added one by one.” She
whispers into the baby’s ear, “All this beauty wasted on war.” In the baby’s
face, Aneeqa sees hujja––“proof of the divine.” She has a vision of Arwa
al-Sulayhi––the long reigning eleventh century
Poet-Queen. Wild plums ripen over a purple woodpile the color of shadows. As
she passes through the market she hears an almond farmer say, “Some tell
themselves they’ll come back when things get better. But things never get
better.” [Published
in The Ongoing Saga I Told My Daughter:
Expanded Edition. ©
2016 by Jim Cohn.] |
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