The Soup of Baghdad
A plate falls to the floor
this night, the door holds its knocks
silence broken by fear
Baba fingers the bowl for onions
his kubbeh has cooled
like blue veins beneath skin
when life dangles on the earlobe of war
The wild dogs of East Rashid bawl
their alarm, eyes dart
another silent goodbye husband to family
One last swallow of arak, liquid fire
for sanity’s sake, final drip of silence ambushed
forearms flex when Baba’s spoon falls
even the children drink tonight
Stacy Campbell lives in Hurst and teaches English
to special education students in Arlington.