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 Find us on facebook at: facebook.com/closetalking Find us on twitter at: twitter.com/closetalking You can always send us an e-mail with thoughts on this or any of our previous podcasts, as well as suggestions for future shows, at [email protected]. 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

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