Yazidi Girl

A Poem by Richard Mapp

I wish I could tell that little girl to look inside. How dare I.

I wish I could tell that little girl how beautiful it is…..the top of the world. That sunrise and sunsets shine at the same time so there is no need to chase either.

It is neither cold nor hot but perfect to sit in your trunks and bathe with the birds. The same birds that can lift the nets of the shadows of the earth in Derek Walcott’s season of phantasmal peace.

But of course this is a just a fleeting moment that I get to travel to. I wish I could make myself travel here more often. Boy, how beautiful.

I would bring pepper sauce and mangoes and all foods blue and peas and rice and tamarind.


But I am free (for now anyway) to travel as often as I like and yet I don’t. That poor little girl trapped in Sinjar with horror all around would hate everything I have to say. How do I tell that little girl to look inside?

I will name her Golda after Golda Meir. She is strong and abrasive….good thing! she will need it.

She will need it to cajole and demand and insist on rescuing more of her kin. She will fight and struggle and not give in to all the shit, literally, in the sewer where she hid. She will lead her people out of that horror so I can sleep at night. I won’t let her rest until she is exhausted.

When Golda addresses her new country of Kurdistan, she will thank me for helping her get there. I will read a poem and all this stupid business about the meaning of life would have been worth it. Me and Golda free at last…..finally looking inside from a very different past.

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