Javeria Hasnain
Javeria Hasnain is a poet from Karachi, Pakistan. Her poems have been published or are forthcoming in The Aleph Review, Bending Genres, Lumiere Review, Anatolios magazine, and elsewhere. She currently volunteers as a Poetry Reader for The Adroit Journal.
1. Bristling
I sit glistening in the moonlight
with such comfort & cool, as if
the hair on my arms & my under-
arms & my legs & what is between
them & what is above them &
my face aren’t bristles, as if
they do not hurt me everyday.
As if it’s a miracle—an elusive
miracle!—that I still choose to keep
them. Little pricks, stings, gashes
even Karachi’s most humid air
can’t tame. Why is everything so
political these days? my cousin sighs,
as his mother—sweating, rubbing
the evening off her forehead—hands
him a hot cup. I am sitting beside
him, my legs folded, then suddenly
unfolding. The hem of my shalwar
slouches to uncover a hard, electric,
sharp bristle on the bone above my
bulging ankle. I switch towards him,
with sincerity (surprising even to me),
the bristles on my entire body erect;
black bayonet, uncoiling from the heat.
2. What is more important than planting trees?
after noor mukadam
women are unhinged. women are abandoned.
women are pocketed. pocketed women are
abandoned. unhinged women are abandoned.
unhinged women are pocketed.
unhinged women are pocketed
and abandoned. abandoned women are hinged,
then pocketed. pocketed women are unhinged,
abandoned. women are pocketed, unhinged,
abandoned.
meanwhile, dogs are culled in every street
of karachi. every street of karachi culls
a dog. every man of every street
of every city culls a dog, a woman, a child.
one tree planted for every dog
culled. one tree planted for every child
culled. one tree planted for every woman
culled. one tree planted for every woman
pocketed. one tree planted for every
woman abandoned. one tree planted
for every woman, in anticipation.