Derakt-e Fazel, Tree of Grace
If God sat beside my Papa in his chair,
his one and only true
best friend, my Papa
would confuse his pronouns, laugh
to himself, explain how in Persian
there is only one word, one
sound, for this. How after
fifty years in two languages, a daughter
come and gone, it becomes harder and easier
to learn. He might say
to Bibi, Bring her some
fruit, or he might ensnare God in his diabetic
scheme: How is she supposed to eat her fruit
without some ice cream
to wash it down? Bibi
scolding. And God might wave a pale green
hand, arms failing out like the branch
of a pear tree, so that
my Papa removes his blanket
from his shivering knees in thanks, ties it
to the sacred bough.
Watch with closed eyes to see
if the fabric unties itself, streaming
to the floor. This blind belief, God rising
to go before the man finishes
murmuring his one and only wish:
ξ
Darius Atefat-Peckham is an Iranian-American poet and essayist. His work has appeared in Poem-a-Day, The Georgia Review, Indiana Review, Barrow Street, Michigan Quarterly Review, The Journal, The Florida Review, and elsewhere. He is the author of the chapbook, How Many Love Poems (Seven Kitchens Press). In 2018, Atefat-Peckham was selected by the Library of Congress as a National Student Poet. His work has recently appeared in the anthology My Shadow is My Skin: Voices from the Iranian Diaspora (University of Texas Press). Atefat-Peckham lives in Huntington, West Virginia and currently studies English and Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations at Harvard College.