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.