{"product_id":"if-they-come-for-us-isbn-9780525509783","title":"If They Come for Us","description":"\u003cb\u003e“A debut poetry collection showcasing both a fierce and tender new voice.”—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Elegant and playful . . . The poet invents new forms and updates classic ones.”—\u003ci\u003eElle\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“[Fatimah] Asghar interrogates divisions along lines of nationality, age, and gender, illuminating the forces by which identity is fixed or flexible.”—\u003ci\u003eThe New Yorker\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eNAMED ONE OF THE TOP TEN BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY \u003cb\u003e• FINALIST FOR THE LAMBDA LITERARY AWARD\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ean aunt teaches me how to tell\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ean edible flower\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003efrom a poisonous one.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ejust in case, I hear her say, just in case.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom a co-creator of the Emmy-nominated web series \u003ci\u003eBrown Girls \u003c\/i\u003ecomes an imaginative, soulful debut poetry that collection captures the experiences of being a young Pakistani Muslim woman in contemporary America. Orphaned as a child, Fatimah Asghar grapples with coming of age and navigating questions of sexuality and race without the guidance of a mother or father. These poems at once bear anguish, joy, vulnerability, and compassion, while also exploring the many facets of violence: how it persists within us, how it is inherited across generations, and how it manifests itself in our relationships. In experimental forms and language both lyrical and raw, Asghar seamlessly braids together marginalized people’s histories with her own understanding of identity, place, and belonging.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eIf They Come for Us\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“In forms both traditional . . . and unorthodox . . . Asghar interrogates divisions along lines of nationality, age, and gender, illuminating the forces by which identity is fixed or flexible. Most vivid and revelatory are pieces such as ‘Boy,’ whose perspicacious turns and irreverent idiom conjure the rich, jagged textures of a childhood shadowed by loss.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe New Yorker\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “[Asghar’s] debut poetry collection cemented her status as one of the city’s greatest present-day poets. . . . A stunning work of art that tackles place, race, sexuality and violence. These poems—both personal and historical, both celebratory and aggrieved—are unquestionably powerful in a way that would doubtless make both Gwendolyn Brooks and Harriet Monroe proud.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eChicago Review of Books\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Taut lines, vivid language, and searing images range cover to cover. . . . Inventive, sad, gripping, and beautiful.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal \u003c\/i\u003e(starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e“An outstanding collection of poetry . . . wonderful play with form . . . These poems cover so much—identity, loss, brown girlhood, the complicated bonds of family, what home is when home is torn apart. Much to admire here. [I] will be thinking about these poems for a long time to come.”\u003cb\u003e—Roxane Gay\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[Fatimah] Asghar presents a debut poetry collection showcasing both a fierce and tender new voice. . . . Through simultaneously lyrical and frank poems like ‘Kal,’ ‘Ghareeb,’ and ‘Halal,’ Asghar allows poignant contradictions to rise to the surface.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“In forms both traditional . . . and unorthodox . . . Asghar interrogates divisions along lines of nationality, age, and gender, illuminating the forces by which identity is fixed or flexible. Most vivid and revelatory are pieces such as ‘Boy,’ whose perspicacious turns and irreverent idiom conjure the rich, jagged textures of a childhood shadowed by loss.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe New Yorker\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “This summer, [Asghar’s] debut poetry collection cemented her status as one of the city’s greatest present-day poets. . . . A stunning work of art that tackles place, race, sexuality and violence. These poems—both personal and historical, both celebratory and aggrieved—are unquestionably powerful in a way that would doubtless make both Gwendolyn Brooks and Harriet Monroe proud.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eChicago Review of Books\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “\u003ci\u003eIf They Come for Us\u003c\/i\u003e is a searing search for self.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eElectric Literature\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “\u003ci\u003eIf They Come for Us\u003c\/i\u003e is a remarkable debut collection, and Asghar’s poetic voice strikes a singular note in several places. Not one of the 44 poems in it feels superfluous. Asghar may unapologetically rip the reader’s heart open, but she also sutures it with the utmost tenderness and care.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLive Mint\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Every age has its poets who spring-load every line with the personal and political so that you know what it was to be fully alive in that time and place—or torn from it. Asghar provides this anguished specificity in her debut poetry collection, a meditation on identity, dislocation, and loss. . . . Taut lines, vivid language, and searing images range cover to cover. . . . Inventive, sad, gripping, and beautiful.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal \u003c\/i\u003e(starred review)\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“In this awe-inspiring debut, Asghar, writer of the Emmy-nominated web series ‘Brown Girls,’ explores the painful, sometimes psychologically debilitating journey of establishing her identity as a queer brown woman within the confines of white America. . . . Honest, personal, and intimate without being insular or myopic, Asghar’s collection reveals a sense of strength and hope found in identity and cultural history.’”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eFatimah Asghar\u003c\/b\u003e is a nationally touring poet, performer, educator, and writer. She is the writer of \u003ci\u003eBrown Girls,\u003c\/i\u003e an Emmy-nominated web series that highlights friendships between women of color. She is a member of Dark Noise and a Ruth Lilly and Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Poetry Fellow.For Peshawar\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003edecember 16, 2014\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBefore attacking schools in Pakistan, the Taliban sends kafan, a white cloth that marks Muslim burials, as a form of psychological terror.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom the moment our babies are born\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eare we meant to lower them into the ground?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo dress them in white? They send flowers\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ebefore guns, thorns plucked from stem.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEvery year I manage to live on this earth\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI collect more questions than answers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn my dreams, the children are still alive\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eat school. In my dreams they still play.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI wish them a mundane life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eArguments with parents. Groundings.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eChasing a budding love around the playground.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIced mango slices in the hot summer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLassi dripping from lips.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFear of being unmarried. Hatred of the family\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003enext door. Kheer at graduation. Fingers licked\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewith mehndi. Blisters on the back of a heel.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLoneliness in a bookstore. Gold chapals.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRed kurtas. Walking home, sun\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eat their backs. Searching the street\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efor a missing glove. Nothing glorious.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA life. Alive. I promise.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI didn’t know I needed to worry\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eabout them\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003euntil they were gone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy uncle gifts me his earliest memory:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ea parking lot full of corpses.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo kafan to hide their eyes\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eno white to return them to the ground.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn all our family histories, one wrong\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eturn \u0026amp; then, death. Violence\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003enot an over there but a memory lurking\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ein our blood, waiting to rise.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe know this from our nests—­\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe bad men wanting to end us. Every year\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewe call them something new:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBritish. Sikhs. Hindus. Indians. Americans. Terrorists.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe dirge, our hearts, pounds vicious, as we prepare\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe white linen, ready to wrap our bodies.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePartition\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eyou’re kashmiri until they burn your home. take your orchards. stake a different flag. until no one remembers the road that brings you back. you’re indian until they draw a border through punjab. until the british captains spit paki as they sip your chai, add so much foam you can’t taste home. you’re seraiki until your mouth fills with english. you’re pakistani until your classmates ask what that is. then you’re indian again. or some kind of spanish. you speak a language until you don’t. until you only recognize it between your auntie’s lips. your father was fluent in four languages. you’re illiterate in the tongues of your father. your grandfather wrote persian poetry on glasses. maybe. you can’t remember. you made it up. someone lied. you’re a daughter until they bury your mother. until you’re not invited to your father’s funeral. you’re a virgin until you get too drunk. you’re muslim until you’re not a virgin. you’re pakistani until they start throwing acid. you’re muslim until it’s too dangerous. you’re safe until you’re alone. you’re american until the towers fall. until there’s a border on your back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eKal\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAllah, you gave us a language\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewhere yesterday \u0026amp; tomorrow\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eare the same word. Kal.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA spell cast with the entire\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003emouth. Back of the throat\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eto teeth. Tomorrow means I might\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehave her forever. Yesterday means\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI say goodbye, again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eKal means they are the same.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI know you can bend time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI am merely asking for what\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eis mine. Give me my mother for no\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eother reason than I deserve her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIf yesterday \u0026amp; tomorrow are the same\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003epluck the flower of my mother’s body\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efrom the soil. Kal means I’m in the crib,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eeyelashes wet as she looks over me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eKal means I’m on the bed,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ecrawling away from her, my father\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eback from work. Kal means she’s\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003edancing at my wedding not-­yet come.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eKal means she’s oiling my hair\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ebefore the first day of school. Kal\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003emeans I wake to her strange voice\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ein the kitchen. Kal means\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eshe’s holding my unborn baby\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ein her arms, helping me pick a name.","brand":"One World","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301837852901,"sku":"NP9780525509783","price":16.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780525509783.jpg?v=1767729790","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/if-they-come-for-us-isbn-9780525509783","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}