after Muhammed died I did the

only logical thing I went to the

 

cemetery for black Civil War soldiers

now mostly desecrated with ball

 

fields and dog shit I came

to this cemetery of the

 

not properly appreciated the

voices not heeded did

 

not feel listened to

covered over, plotted in by a

 

slope restoration plan

hold it in. paint it over.

 

sight, the cemetery reminds

us is only as is chosen

 

selected, framed, fought for

over the hill there is a river with a

 

bridge and a path and inter-spliced

histories few here interrogate

 

when Muhammed died I did the

only logical thing I walked from

 

the park to the used bookstore

stories wait, unread pages by

 

the forgotten, abandoned, resold

ya Rabbi! ya Rahmet! ya Ummi!

 

but I am tired too, Muhammad

carrying you now too with me know

 

we will not rest for your peace

this the would-be ghazal I couldn’t

yet write this the message sent too late

 

but know that you taught me their power

over the hill there is a river with a

 

bridge and a path and inter-spliced

histories too few here interrogate

peace and power to a friend beyond

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