Sajal Ahmed Poems

Dear Sylvia Plath
this morning
I dedicate a knife to you.
The blood of my veins and sub‑veins
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Even from the womb I had heard, only if the father is wealthy does the unborn child's value increase. So I wanted to place my worn-out two feet on the mung-ball planet without stepping into the chest of this tiny man called Earth.

But what to think — God sent me to Earth and that too in the house of some former government slave.
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