Ey Iran

We watch the news and 
fear. 

There are angry tears 
a lot, nowadays. 

Being an Iranian 
in America is terrifying 
sometimes, 

knowing that both the countries
you are a part of hate each other
poisons you from within.

My mother prays for the people
who are detained at the border
who share our stories, 

share our features,

share our country.

My father prays for our family,
for all the people left behind,
who share our faces,

share our blood,

share our love. 

I pray for ourselves because 
they taught us what happened during
World War II and

you can love the U.S.

but not trust it. 

I never realized how quickly this country
could change its mind about you, 
but then the travel ban happened, 
and now this, 

my people are not criminals, 
even though you have made them out to be, 
my people love dancing and singing
and getting together with relatives and 
staying up late and tea and gossiping,

my people are not statistics, they are not
emotionless numbers, they are not 
expressionless black chadors and 
terrifying men with beards, 

I am useful to this country 
until I am not,

I am valuable to this country
until I am the problem,

I am building this country
until it is decided that I
am the one tearing it down. 

And sometimes I do not know 
how to carry on with a smile 
on my face whenever I go to school,

I am too busy thinking of 
my aunts
and uncles
and cousins
and grandmothers
and grandfathers

that are going to be the collateral,
the acceptable human damage if 
everything goes even farther downhill,

I am scared, 
nowadays. 

I am angry,
nowadays. 

I am so, so tired.