Samiya Bashir: Poet of the Week

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A small matter of engineering

The old water tower once stored
every drop we lived on. Its walls

dark capped bricked beige as
supermarket pantyhose still rise

erect astride the main drag
where our road splits between

opposing camps. On this side
everything gone as long as anyone

remembers and winter still cold
as it’s ever been. On the other side?

Listen. You’ve always had the broadest
swath of the river, friend. Thing is: we’re

still here. Whatever else you’ve got left —
well — let us stay parched. G’head, I dare you:

Samiya Bashir’s Poets Tour profile