Poet Farnaz Fatemi reads her poem "Passage."
Passage
In translation, I am a succulent flower
punctuating arid days. I am
a girl without words
listening for a familiar rattle in the seed pods.
I am the book my cousins can’t hold
in their hands.
Only in translation, beyond the names
of oceans or latitudes of rice, I belong.
I am in this new place
but haven’t noticed yet.
Here I spoon my envy in my cereal,
can’t say who it is I’d rather be.
I know the Alborz mountains
but pronounce them without the accent
of absence, the way all my aunts do.
My permits are in order.
I come and go, carrying only their stories
as baggage. I know nothing of exile.
I blink and pass through walls
not meant for me.