Dujie Tahat
Balikbayan in Praise of
Impending Irreversible
Ecological Disaster
Suffering isn’t art-making until it is. After a
good day of writing, I don’t enjoy it. The
world is so strange until I remember I’m
going to die. Then it’s beautiful. Over a bar-
ren hill is a rainbow, a gesture towards art-
ifice. The wasps that die for fig to fruit in a
poem I write are no metaphor. The planet is
unbeauty. I’ve been divorced. Sure, my pops
beat me. I’ve failed my children & several
other beloveds. The room spins. I am so
afraid is a confession too. The world is _____
& men in uniforms would happily kill me
depending on what side of the orchard I stay.