{"id":12063,"date":"2022-12-15T09:33:51","date_gmt":"2022-12-15T07:33:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/?p=12063"},"modified":"2025-09-10T12:26:55","modified_gmt":"2025-09-10T10:26:55","slug":"three-poems-by-tishani-doshi","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/three-poems-by-tishani-doshi\/","title":{"rendered":"Three Poems by Tishani Doshi"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><em>A God at the Door<\/em>, poems by Tishani Doshi<br \/>\n<a href=\"https:\/\/www.coppercanyonpress.org\/books\/a-god-at-the-door-by-tishani-doshi\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Copper Canyon Press<\/a>, 2021<br \/>\nISBN 9781556594526<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><div class=\"ose-vimeo ose-uid-8cde8ace521c42a5dad8e2f37906309a ose-embedpress-responsive\" style=\"width:600px; height:550px; max-height:550px; max-width:100%; display:inline-block;\" data-embed-type=\"Vimeo\"><iframe loading=\"lazy\" allowFullScreen=\"true\" title=\"Tishani Doshi talks about A God at the Door\" src=\"https:\/\/player.vimeo.com\/video\/781182703?dnt=0&amp;app_id=122963&title=0&color=00ADEF&byline=0&portrait=0&autoplay=0&loop=0&autopause=0\" width=\"600\" height=\"550\" frameborder=\"0\" allow=\"encrypted-media;accelerometer;autoplay;clipboard-write;gyroscope;picture-in-picture fullscreen; picture-in-picture; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; web-share\" referrerpolicy=\"strict-origin-when-cross-origin\"><\/iframe><\/div><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h4><\/h4>\n<h4 style=\"text-align: center;\">Survival<\/h4>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">Dear ones who are still alive, I fear we may have overthought<br \/>\nthings. It is not always a war between celebration and lament.<br \/>\nNow we know death is circuitous, not just a matter of hiding<br \/>\nin the dark, or under a bed, not even a slingshot for our loved<br \/>\nones to carry, it changes nothing. Ask me to build a wall<br \/>\nand I will build it straight. When the end came, were you<br \/>\nwatching TV or picnicking in a field with friends? Was the tablecloth<br \/>\nwhite, did you stay silent or fight? I hope by now you\u2019ve given up<br \/>\nthe fur coat, the frequent-flier miles. In the hours of waiting,<br \/>\nI heard a legend about a woman who was carried off by winds,<br \/>\na love ballet between her and the gods, which involved only minor<br \/>\nmutilations. How I long to be a legend. To stand at the dock<br \/>\nand stare at this or that creature who survived. Examine<br \/>\nits nest, marvel at a tusk that can rake the seafloor for food.<br \/>\nHope is a noose around my neck. I have traded in my rollerblades<br \/>\nfor a quill. Here is the boat, the journey, the camp. If we want<br \/>\nto arrive we must push someone off the side. It is impossible<br \/>\nto feel benign. How many refugees does it take to build<br \/>\na mansion? I ask again, shall we wait or run?<br \/>\nHere is winter, the dense pack ice. Touch it. It is a reminder<br \/>\nof our devastation. A kind of worship, an incantation.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h4>After a Shooting in a Maternity Clinic<br \/>\nin Kabul<\/h4>\n<figure id=\"attachment_12064\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-12064\" style=\"width: 300px\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.coppercanyonpress.org\/books\/a-god-at-the-door-by-tishani-doshi\/\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-12064\" src=\"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/12\/copper-canyon-a-god-at-the-door-tishani-doshi-cover.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"300\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/12\/copper-canyon-a-god-at-the-door-tishani-doshi-cover.jpg 700w, https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/12\/copper-canyon-a-god-at-the-door-tishani-doshi-cover-600x900.jpg 600w, https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/12\/copper-canyon-a-god-at-the-door-tishani-doshi-cover-200x300.jpg 200w, https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/12\/copper-canyon-a-god-at-the-door-tishani-doshi-cover-683x1024.jpg 683w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px\" \/><\/a><figcaption id=\"caption-attachment-12064\" class=\"wp-caption-text\">Published by <a href=\"https:\/\/www.coppercanyonpress.org\/books\/a-god-at-the-door-by-tishani-doshi\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Copper Canyon<\/a>.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\">No one forgets there\u2019s a war going on,<br \/>\nbut there are moments you could be forgiven<br \/>\nfor believing the city is still an orchard,<br \/>\na place where you could make a thing grow.<br \/>\nThere is always a pile of rubble from which<br \/>\nsome desperate person struggles to rise,<br \/>\nwhile another person wraps a shawl<br \/>\naround their shoulders and roasts<br \/>\nmarshmallows over a fire.<br \/>\nThis is not that.<br \/>\nThis is not bomb dropping from sky,<br \/>\nhuman shield, hostages in a stream, child<br \/>\npicking up toy that explodes in her hands\u2014<br \/>\nalthough there\u2019s always that\u2014hope is a booby trap.<br \/>\nThis is the house you were brought to after crossing<br \/>\na river, leaving the mountains and burnt fields<br \/>\nbehind. A place of safety where you<br \/>\ncould be alone with your own<br \/>\nstartling power.<br \/>\nNot <em>Why were you out? And why<br \/>\n<\/em><em>wasn\u2019t your face covered? And who told you<br \/>\n<\/em><em>to climb into that rickshaw? <\/em>But <em>Here, prepare<br \/>\n<\/em><em>for this most ordinary thing, a birth.<\/em> And this is not<br \/>\nto ask what it means never to see someone again,<br \/>\nbut to ask what it means not to make it past<br \/>\nthe first checkpoint of your mother\u2019s gates.<br \/>\nNever mind all the wild places<br \/>\noutside\u2014<br \/>\nthe mud-brick villages, the valleys and harvests<br \/>\nand glasses of green tea. Or even to say <em>I am here<br \/>\n<\/em><em>to claim the child of Suraya,<\/em> because you know<br \/>\nthis to be impossible. Even if you could bring a man<br \/>\nto recover your sister\u2019s corpse and the newborn,<br \/>\nwhere do you go from here? You still have<br \/>\nto consider the bodies, the bullet-ridden<br \/>\nwalls, still have to find the small<br \/>\nwindow of this house and take<br \/>\nin the panorama.<br \/>\nSee\u2014it is raining outside and men weep<br \/>\nfor their wives, and perhaps the entire world<br \/>\nis an orchard that has detonated its crimson fruits,<br \/>\nits pomegranates and poppies and tart mulberries<br \/>\nto wash these floors red, and those of us who stand<br \/>\noutside this house know that nothing will flourish<br \/>\nhere again. Like crowds who gather<br \/>\nfor an execution, we can only ask,<br \/>\nwhat does it mean to be born<br \/>\nin a graveyard, to enter<br \/>\nthe world, saying,<br \/>\n<em>Oh thief, oh life.<\/em><\/p>\n<h4 style=\"text-align: center;\">Self<\/h4>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">And when they ask what kind of animal<br \/>\nwould you be, I always say gazelle or lark,<br \/>\nnever cockroach, even though they\u2019ll outlast<br \/>\nus all. Once I dreamed I had a body with two<br \/>\nheads like those ancient figures from the Zarqa<br \/>\nRiver\u2014bitumen eyes, trunks of reed and hydrated<br \/>\nlime, built thick and flat without genitals, nothing<br \/>\nshameful to eject except tears. We all want to be<br \/>\nmonuments but can\u2019t help shoving our fingers<br \/>\nin dirt. Imagine a life in childhood\u2014one face<br \/>\nto the womb, another to the future. What we remember<br \/>\nis the road, peering through a lattice at dusk,<br \/>\nthe trauma of burial. Will we have terra-cotta<br \/>\narmies to take us through, will we be alone<br \/>\nwith the maggots? How good the rain is<br \/>\nafter a failed romance. Never mind the muddy<br \/>\nbloomers. We are appalled by life and still,<br \/>\nany chance we get we emerge from the earth<br \/>\nlike cicadas to sing and fuck for a moment<br \/>\nof triumph. The shock we carry is that the world<br \/>\ndoesn\u2019t need us. Even so, we go collecting parts\u2014<br \/>\nan afternoon by the sea, a game of hopping on<br \/>\nand off scales, nose low to the ground, looking<br \/>\nfor that other glove to complete us.<br \/>\nHere I am, globe, spinning planet.<br \/>\nTell me, Why are you not astonished?<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Madras, Indian-born poet, writer, and dancer Tishani Doshi presents three of her latest poems.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":329,"featured_media":21198,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"default","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center 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center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"footnotes":""},"categories":[34,35],"tags":[118,406,814,850,1367,1818],"article-category":[4768],"article-type":[],"coauthors":[2163],"class_list":["post-12063","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry","category-poetry-markaz","tag-afghanistan","tag-children","tag-hope","tag-india","tag-poetry","tag-women","article-category-poetry"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v25.5 (Yoast SEO v27.3) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-premium-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Three Poems by Tishani Doshi - The Markaz Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Madras, Indian-born poet, writer, and dancer Tishani Doshi presents three of her latest poems.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" 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