Tarik Dobbs: Three Poems
A Hadith or Saying for White Boyfriends
I taught you how to dabke
like a fool, I crossed heel over
left, you wouldn’t, gripping
your pockets insides
left hand forward, indolence
rendering love into sputtering,
a welcoming lost
between ourselves,
erasing yourself
erasing my face
My Uncle Who Died of AIDS Probably
To murder outside touching bodies
cradle to that grave
telling food time by
sound of bowls
silhouette thinning out
some old fruit
you
at your funeral
brimming with ants
putrefaction
the nicest way
Yo2borneh*
Everything I don’t think they care about
is exactly what the story is
You bury me, I tell the man on a layover,
I tug his band—
21, 23, 24—two went to Arizona State,
he kisses my knuckles, weren’t you
Diesel fog perfuses headlights, perfume
I can’t see the greenness/
valley, only murky contour, he reaches
for what’s buried beneath my floors,
let him creak/
without a doubt,
I was buried when the djinn shrieked
beneath my belly
sweaty windows,
I twist the ignition in the Audi A4
engine screeching/radiator bubbling
unburied, threshing/inducing nausea
Light-filled loft, the mother’s watching East
Village glass doors/no condoms
on this tour, he yanks my tongue
beneath again & again, we say
I love you, son, I beg to
resurge, exhume
a fistful of sand, sent his daughter
to Oregon State, he pulls
says his boy can’t keep out of girls,
buried a grandson
age four,
car alarm ringing
I say salaam & bonjour
djinn flings my lost lenses at the door
———————
* (Ya-a-bal-nih); Arabic transliteration; “2” = أ = “a”
Tarik Dobbs is a queer, Lebanese-American poet from Dearborn, MI. He is the winner of a fellowship and two awards in the 2018 Michigan Hopwood Program. His poems are forthcoming or recently appear in diode, Tinderbox, and Glass. He draws inspiration from stories of his mother and grandmother.