Ceremonial

fatima malik

My mother’s is a religion of intercessors
and emissaries

Her mother paid a man for years to guide
her spirit

Many a night on the Prophet’s birthday she
and I sang his praises

Mausoleums and shrines held special, precise
meaning

My father’s faith lay between him and his
God

Of no use to him were talismans, relics, 
shamans, miracles

He didn’t believe in many rituals
of the dead

All he wanted was a same-day burial, 
no 3rd day gathering

No 10th day meal, no 40th day ceremony to mark 
the end of mourning

In spite of it all my mother did hold 
a 3rd day gathering

For what are the rituals of the dead if not
rituals of the living?

To wave a flag in the face of your grief, to let
the others in

If only for a moment, to rest your wild beating arms,
to say: I surrender

Fatima Malik (she/her) is a fundraiser and poet with work published or forthcoming in Breakwater Review, The Georgia Review, The Margins, sidereal magazine, Whale Road Review, and others. She is working on her first full-length collection of poems, an excavation of grief after her father's sudden death. She has a BA in English Literature and Creative Writing from Dartmouth College and a joint MA in Journalism and Near Eastern Studies from New York University. While she currently lives in New York City, her heart is forever in Lahore. Find her on Twitter @FaZeMalik.