Image by Caroline Forbes

Poem introduction

My father passed away three years ago, and until he died, he had a habit of referring to his books as if they still existed. In fact he had to give them away many times in his life, when he fled Kurdistan, when he was in prison. And this poem is about the only time I witnessed him get rid of two thousand books, when we left Iraqi Kurdistan in the aftermath of genocide.

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Over the years I’ve become increasingly interested in the lyrical nature of poetry. I find that the more I’ve taken in...

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