On "Bitter Herbs" by Alanna Shaikh
by Jason Harris
There are poems I read that remind me of a fact I often don’t consider: that narrative is already always happening. I was reminded of this fact the first time I read Alanna Shaikh’s poem, “Bitter Herbs,” and each reading after. Upon my initial reading of the poem I felt drawn to the size of it—how much happened in such a small amount of space; if it were a tactile thing I could have held the poem in the palm of my hand like a gift.