meteorology is the science of remembering the sky stays relatively the same
Poetry by Inam Kang
in poverty, the sky felt like an unattainable parody. i say parody like everyone reads stars and my brothers and i just yell about good shine on a black sheet. we grew big in the after, made the sky a different thing. nobody’s home at the right time. my mother there on the couch with a telephone and du’a. say bismillah a million times, say hello to a new home. every single morning, my family makes a run for bigger wealth. still, there is the sky, each shine set in place like a jewel in ring. my mother held her own up close to her eye and still kept an elbow on the sill. she took a cheap glue to it because somebody had to commemorate the wedding with this. me, bound against her fingers, too. my brothers, late through the door. we fish through a screen. again, there’s the sky. there’s a reason to remember. this time, not a war. this time, not a lost jewel in the wrong place. this time, only a small home where the people spoke a single language from the tips of their dry lips. this time, only the sky with our bodies watching, crooning like steam from a good meal in a familiar country.
Inam Kang is a Pakistan-born poet, student, and curator. His work can be found in Winter Tangerine, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, AAWW'S The Margins, The Breakbeat Poets Vol. 3: Halal If You Hear Me and other journals and anthologies. He is the current Administrative Director of Winter Tangerine Workshops and splits his time working and living between Cleveland and Southeastern Michigan.