Best Poem of Gabeba Baderoon

Time Running Across the Night
To watch Sitti Hoca set
her mouth and write her name
in a new script, to see
her comb wool sheared
from a sheep in Kurdistan, washed
five times, on metal teeth, then take
a wooden stick capped
with a metal hook, fit
one piece of the soft mass
to the hook and pull
with the fingers a thinning . . .
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Fanon's Secret
The grape-picker holds out
his hand full of fruit but turns
his face, the slight, unavailable cast
of his head his most precious possession.

The woman who cleans your house
all day is in the places you can't be,
touches your sheets.

You hate
what is held back,
not known to you,
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