the liver of a blowfish is said to
be the tastiest part it’s also the
most toxic an ounce enough to kill ten
men I have avoided it completely
which is not to say I’ve been unreckless
as a boy I saw a wolf in the shade
of a yew tree I stared it stared at my
staring I whispered banam-e-khudah
it bolted it could have shredded me like
a paper kite in a storm I used to
believe my father’s umbrella caused the
rain he was so powerful nobody
has turned out to be as powerful as
I believed my father to be least of
all my father with his insulin and
heart medication now he can’t even
eat the fruit he grows which doesn’t stop him
from growing it he dries it sends boxes
of pressed quince apple cherry peach pear plum
that I struggle to love other men is
a lie I’ve uttered with confidence at
certain convenient moments in my life
I can’t imagine anything less true
now with the dizzying sweet fruit still stuck
in my teeth my gums and tongue tinted green
a quiet question answering itself