Episode #047 If They Should Come For Us - Fatimah Asghar

Connor and Jack delve into Fatimah Asghar's incredible poem, "If They Should Come for Us." They discuss the lack of punctuation, the use of the ampersand, the historical connections in the title, brave line breaks, The Dark Knight, the blending of the political and the personal, and much more.

This show starts with a short discussion of a listener response to episode 42, Manifesto on Ars Poetica, and a special announcement (see below). The discussion of today's poem starts at 11:25.

Special Announcement from the start of the show: Close Talking will be featured on a great panel of literary podcasts at the 2019 AWP conference! We can't wait to see you all there!

Learn more about Fatimah Asghar, here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/fatimah-asghar

Get a copy of her book, If They Should Come for Us, here: https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/565781/if-they-come-for-us-by-fatimah-asghar/9780525509783/

Read the poem "If They Should Come for Us" here (or below): https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/92374/if-they-should-come-for-us

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If They Should Come for Us

By: Fatimah Asghar

these are my people & I find

them on the street & shadow

through any wild all wild

my people my people

a dance of strangers in my blood

the old woman’s sari dissolving to wind

bindi a new moon on her forehead

I claim her my kin & sew

the star of her to my breast

the toddler dangling from stroller

hair a fountain of dandelion seed

at the bakery I claim them too

the sikh uncle at the airport

who apologizes for the pat

down the muslim man who abandons

his car at the traffic light drops

to his knees at the call of the azan

& the muslim man who sips

good whiskey at the start of maghrib

the lone khala at the park

pairing her kurta with crocs

my people my people I can’t be lost

when I see you my compass

is brown & gold & blood

my compass a muslim teenager

snapback & high-tops gracing

the subway platform

mashallah I claim them all

my country is made

in my people’s image

if they come for you they

come for me too in the dead

of winter a flock of

aunties step out on the sand

their dupattas turn to ocean

a colony of uncles grind their palms

& a thousand jasmines bell the air

my people I follow you like constellations

we hear the glass smashing the street

& the nights opening their dark

our names this country’s wood

for the fire my people my people

the long years we’ve survived the long

years yet to come I see you map

my sky the light your lantern long

ahead & I follow I follow