Recitation of the Fatiha for the Dead

"The poet guards the conscience of society--
no; you're wrong:  she stands lonely on that
hillock observing the pastures."

- Marilyn Chin, from "Summer Sonatina"

Oh the fates that awaited me in other times
and places:  China, murdered at birth; Africa,
circumcised; India, burned on my husband's

pyre.  Blazing within me a fire that will not be
extinguished--ignited the day I realized my
life could not be distinguished from theirs.

Living now among thorny acacia bushes, camel
herds, Arabian red foxes, I feed white-cheeked
bulbuls and palm doves on my patio.  Some nights

I dream of snow.  Mornings the local newscaster
announces the latest death toll figures--women,
children--from suicide bombings, insurgency attacks

next door.  So close yet secure, untouched it seems
by their sorrows.  We all go about our business--
what else can we do?  Iraq's tragedy light years

away--another planet.  Attempting at times to
teach my students how to fight for women's
rights, peace and justice, most days and nights

I mutely stand lonely on a desert dune
observing shifting sands, impending doom,
reciting the fatiha for the dead.

(c)Diana Woodcock          2007                      

from Mandala from Foothills Publishing, 2009

first published in Litchfield Review, 2007 and

Other Voices International Project, Sept 2007