In Memory of B B

I was not born to be a ghost
but now I am the ghost of the machine
that works the lungs the heart the kidneys
of the body that is no longer
my body but the body
of the congregation that prays for me

it is the winter of the new day
of my birth when gifts are made
and hands grasped in the other
country of my birth that I left
to live with dogs and talk with djinns
and beat on the door of the house
of exile where still I am refused
my breath is an hydraulic ghost
my voice has drowned in my lungs
the soul between my vertebrae pleads for release
the snow on my lips is supernatural bread
I leave you to think of my sister and mother
I leave you to ask what happened
I leave you to find a home for my cat

I leave you in the knowledge that I lived