I Was in a Hurry by Dunya Mikhail

Yesterday I lost a country. 
I was in a hurry, 
and didn't notice when it fell from me 
like a broken branch from a forgetful tree. 
Please, if anyone passes by 
and stumbles across it, 
perhaps in a suitcase 
open to the sky, 
or engraved on a rock 
like a gaping wound, 
or wrapped 
in the blankets of emigrants, 
or canceled 
like a losing lottery ticket, 
or helplessly forgotten 
in Purgatory, 
or rushing forward without a goal 
like the questions of children, 
or rising with the smoke of war, 
or rolling in a helmet on the sand, 
or stolen in Ali Baba's jar, 
or disguised in the uniform of a policeman 
who stirred up the prisoners 
and fled, 
or squatting in the mind of a woman 
who tries to smile, 
or scattered like the dreams 
of new immigrants in America. 
If anyone stumbles across it, 
return it to me, please. 

Please return it, sir. 
Please return it, madam. 
It is my country... 
I was in a hurry 
when I lost it yesterday. 

- Dunya Mikhail - 

from The War Works Hard 
translated by Elizabeth Winslow 

Dunya Mikhail, exiled Iraqi poet, born in Baghdad, 1965, 
lives in US. 

Dunya Mikhail | POET