February Augury
Yulan magnolias blossom first
as birds
little feathered fists
I admit to
imagining could harm me,
extending barefaced
from trees, the known
homes of jinn
I’m told. The night deepens and
locusts halo my head
or don’t. Believe me
I barely believe
the heralds I’ve seen, the mirror
windowed if I stare
a beat too long, my face refracting
others, foremothers,
my beloved’s hands rising
in supplication under winter
rain, stopping after spotting
the dead sparrow by the door
bent like a comma—
as if asking him
to pause, or telling me
to wait.
—Sarah Ghazal Ali
—found in The Adroit Journal (April 2022, Issue 41)