Lanat Abad / The Place of the Damned

this mangy plot where


by now
only mothers still come,

only mothers guard the nameless plots








and then sparingly








Peepholes burnt through the metal doors

of their solitary cells,





just large enough
for three fingers to curl out
for a lemon to pass through
for an ear to be held against
for one eye then the other
to regard the hallway
to regard the cell and inmate




peepholes without a lens

so when the guard comes to inspect me,
I inspect him.


Touch me, he said.






And through that opening



I did.
More Poems by Solmaz Sharif