Noura Brock Jaber: A Warning
Kien Do

Kien Do


when a weed blooms
it has declared to us:
you called me a nuisance
but look at what i gave you.
this blossom/this beauty
unsolicited. this spectacle
of color you neither asked for
nor deserve.

A Warning

the name sing to us
from the bottom of the asphalt
river/an aria
of last breath bubbling
to the surface. keep

the name out your mouth.
our dead don’t surrender themselves
that easy. 


death does not change
the ways we love each other

love’s language is
rooted in our genes

death’s language is
carved into our tongues

death does not change
the ways we love each other

love does not change
the ways we die               


self-portrait as sweet tooth

so i finally admit to myself that i’m queer
& all the puzzle pieces fall into place.
then all the puzzle pieces ricochet
off each other & the cacophony
is inside my body/inside these lungs
suddenly booming with my name & everyone
is delicious. everyone wants a taste of me.
me, all raucous dance.
all left feet & damp palms & eyes
eating up every body in the room.
everything is made of candy.
everything is sugar & sticky & tasty.
what am I going to tell my boyfriend
now that everyone is syrup?
what am I to say to his sweet trust
& chocolate eyes? & why
is a man always the first “what if”?
why can’t today be my banquet?
why can’t today be about me,
about my new birthday, all cake & candles
& icing  & limeade & sweet tooth?

Noura Brock Jaber is a Black- and Arab- American queer woman. She is a poet who writes to survive.