74

The first time I learned what death was 
I saw body bags lined up roughly in the hallway of a mall 
There was nowhere else to put them
Soon enough, the bags ran out, and then it was just bodies 
Bloodied and bruised and charred in weird ways 
There wasn’t enough press to cover every death 
So survivors wandered down the line, looking for someone they recognized 
A mother, a son, a brother 
For some, their face would turn suddenly 
And they’d throw themselves on a body, sobbing 
Others just looked solemn and sat by their friends’ remains 

A week later, I went to an American funeral for the first time 
I was eight and just starting to understand what it meant to die 
I was scared because I didn’t want to see a family friend’s dad
Splayed and bloodied on the floor of our local shopping mall 
And when we walked into an empty church, I was shocked 
That all the windows were intact and only a shag carpet covered the floors 
There was only one body, adorned with flowers and candles 
In a large, ornate mahogany casket at the front of the hall 

And at my first funeral, I learned that things aren’t fair for people like me 
And I wondered where I’d go when I died 
With my people, blue and swollen, on a bloody linoleum floor
Or in an empty room, in an elaborate casket, alone

Selma Adie

I Miss the Homs Shopping Malls