Things Too Small To See



Once the mother put a fish bone in each of her daughters’ plates to see which one was the most
gullible. Madness. Bullets of pomegranate seeds from my brother’s mouth on a Sunday afternoon.
The quarter Balochi in me. Death of a language. Dust on old letters. Still-born brother’s body. Lice.
The holes punctured in Uncle’s cancer body. His youngest nodding as the Imam said death is a gift.
A nightmare. Prayer. Sugar. Salt. Visa stamps. A friend suggesting to shorten my name to H. Once
the mother ate all the fish bones from each of her daughters’ plates to see if she possessed maternal

Hafsa Zulfiqar hails from Pakistan and graduated from Bennington College where she studied literature and psychology. Her work which has received the WNDB Walter Grant and a Pushcart nomination explores brown identity, dreams, language, liminality, and above all the notion of home; it can be found or is forthcoming in AAWW: The Margins, Up the Staircase Quarterly, The Offing, Pidgeonholes, Columbia Journal, South Dakota Review, Fractured Literary, Kissing Dynamite, & Anti-Heroin Chic. She serves on the staff of Brooklyn Poets & Muzzle Magazine. You can find her on Twitter @HafsaZUnar and Instagram @vibingwithabook