Maghrib
Neda Sarrami
My memories remain in exile.
ey live in the sundown station of
the Azan, a sound I associate with home
like my father’s voice. e sounds of
aghoushe allah coming to rescue, rolling over,
rounding out my ear drums. Releasing tension
into stagnant water, but unholy.
Grief is not part of memory,
but just another arm of love. Everyone uses
one far more than the other. Mine is my right.
Every day I watch the solar decease into earth.
e calls to pray ring in my ears even if no one
sings, and this is how love disguises itself
as long as I choose grief.
Whenever the Azan blares, I know it’s time
to beg the angels for answers;
which is to say it’s time
to say my name enough times.
ey live in the sundown station of
the Azan, a sound I associate with home
like my father’s voice. e sounds of
aghoushe allah coming to rescue, rolling over,
rounding out my ear drums. Releasing tension
into stagnant water, but unholy.
Grief is not part of memory,
but just another arm of love. Everyone uses
one far more than the other. Mine is my right.
Every day I watch the solar decease into earth.
e calls to pray ring in my ears even if no one
sings, and this is how love disguises itself
as long as I choose grief.
Whenever the Azan blares, I know it’s time
to beg the angels for answers;
which is to say it’s time
to say my name enough times.
Neda Sarrami is a second year MFA candidate at the University of San Francisco. They’ve self-published two books through Kindle Direct Publishing: “A Plethora of Roses” in 2018 and “Letters For Him” in February of this year. Their poetry was published in Filter Coffee Zine earlier this year, and generally focuses on themes of home, culture, and ethnic divide within, as they are both Iranian and American.
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