- Mar 22
- 1 min read
Bijan Ghaisar
Say we shot a video—would the first or tenth
bullet put a son in the past tense? Drop the windshield
like a weapon, like a baby on his close-call head. We could
blame the brains of the operation, press them to the passenger
seat in the name of self-defense. We’ll, of course, withhold
the brain-dead body from his mother’s holding. It’s unlike her
to evidence him against him, twiddling her unarmed American
thumbs into a hospital-white quiet. When the respirator runs
out of breath, he’ll catch it like a car chase, like the body
before the body of an almost-uncle, one who wasn’t
running but at rest. Thanksgiving will pass before
Thanksgivings, the driveway will empty for a lifetime
of finally-Friday dinners to go uneaten, but come
Monday his murderers will have to drive themselves
to work and so, too, his Baba.
SOPHIE SARDARI holds a BA in Linguistics from the University of Virginia. This makes her a poet on weekdays, a muse on the weekends, and a linguist on a technicality. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Harvard Advocate, La Piccioletta Barca, Columbia Journal, and Poetry Online.