Tiel Aisha Ansari

Inheritance/Improvisation

Inheritance. I wasn’t raised to call Myself Black, Indian, Chinese “You’re human,” said my parents. That was all. By the west window sits a Chinese camphor chest Folded full of blankets and grandmother’s dresses.

A Day At Union Station

Departure At last, I’m leaving the familiar roof! I’m undeterred by rain and wind. This presentation should be quite a feather In my cap. Eager, I clutch my ticket. I’m going places. Not letting

Informational Decay

I heard an echo in a hollow place. No sound of blowing wind or drifting sand, Some ancient voice was this, a captive trace Of gone-by speech, of argument, demand, Of plea or question,