It’s what she leaves behind.
It’s the devil in the detail.
.
For the future,
a life in another, safer country,
she dreams the big things….
hope for freedom for herself,
to walk with her face bare to the sun,
possibilities for her children to grow
and learn in schools without threat,
marriage for her sister,
to a man of her own choosing.
.
But, for the past,
its what she leaves behind,
the small details…
the water on the courtyard stone in mountain light,
the sparrow tree, on the dusty street
where thousands of sparrows
return at dusk to fluff and chatter and
sleep until the morning call to prayer,
the mountains that divide the city
with their attendant, floating, watchful hawks,
the certainty of the mullah, explaining the cosmic universe in myth,
the anxiety of her husband’s mother,
the green tea and sweets to welcome visitors,
and circle of radiant heat from the bukhari stove,
with family crouched in winter warmth
and stories and legend going back a thousand years.
It’s the detail of the life she had.
It’s what she leaves behind.
