Poem for Nadia Murad

The sickle moon shades her face as bullets shower.
Nadia’s mother and six brothers fall, only she survives.
Sold in the market place she dies every hour.

Their putrid breath, butts of cigarettes, braze in Nadia.
Mouth closed like a tomb, eyes buried, she prays.
The sickle moon shades her face as bullets shower.

Her sisters eclipse, their psychic numbing not over.
Draped in the tents of ISIS, birth babies with no place.
Sold in the market place they die every hour.

The wings of a Yazidi Archangel shield and empower.
Each grain of sand a lost child who must be saved.
The sickle moon shades her face as bullets shower.

Sand blows in Iraq as Nadia meets the world powers.
They did wrong; I have rights; a plea for grace.
Sold in the market place she dies every hour.

Nadia’s voice vibrates to connect our humaneness.
May her lips smile again for we are all the same.
The sickle moon shades her face as bullets shower.
Sold in the market place we die every hour.