Pantea Amin Tofangchi grew up in poetry, war, death, conflict, beauty, hatred, love, and censorship all at the same time. She was eight when the Iran‑Iraq War started and in senior high when it ended. Glazed With War is her story, her life, written from her childhood’s perspective. —Mason Jar Press
Pantea Amin Tofangchi
Ash-rains
it rained
ashes those days
there are still some black spots on me
in my pocket lives
a bird that can swim
all the way back
to my second grade one day,
lifting me up
light like a feather,
to the 4th street by the school
another day
leaving me behind a thick black fog,
close enough
to smell it all again
ashes ashes
ashes ashes
Manhood
Right after an attack on a corner
under the Seyed Khandan bridge,
right where the taxis used to stop
there was a human piece.
burned—
a male genital organ.
It was obviously not a sign
of humankind’s end
but, perhaps it was.
The Turtle and the Moon
Memories are wet,
gold as wheat in the field,
brown like the bag with wooden handles
and the green and red turtle that used to live on it.
The bag that secretly lived
under my bed
to comfort me through the night,
it contained water bottles, towels,
a few of my sister’s and my toys,
my green metal piggy bank,
and some other useless stuff.
The tv said in the event
of a chemical attack
put a wet towel on your face.
Memories are silver
cold and heavy
like a towel that has been soaked
in the lake on a cold night
with the moon dancing in the wind.
