Poem for Karine

Karine Blais Was Lifted Up, Exploded Apart And Thrown Down In Shah Wali Kot
Blown up to bits by,
men who rested.
And then stoned their own
women who had found the new
law harsh, that said
they were the property
of those men. Those so willing
to cast the first stone.
In their caves, hidden
from the eyes of the
Afghan man, women’s candles burned
their prayers.
Can you help us Oh God?
Can you help? Tah ma sera merasta kawohlay?
They stone us. They stone those who come
from far away to help us.
They have exploded the Canadian child,
Karine Blais,
who came to help us.
She, who will never
be twenty two.
She who has never
worn the
burqa which hides
our womaness.
Hides our concatenated
soul, stills our voices,
the voices of mothers, and daughters
and stills the voice of
Karine Blais.
Can you help us Oh God?
Can you help? Tah ma sera merasta kawohlay?

Karine Blais, two hundred fifty-two months
into her youth.
Killed for an old Man God,
whose song is blood.