Recent Work By Raena Shirali

                    All I remember is rushing water—
The creeks fed into us
as we wetted each other’s mouths

with brine. Everyone I knew was sixteen
& drunk. Nights, we smashed bottles
on ruined civil war forts. Damp tights stuck

to our thighs. The city kept on sinking,
or swimming, despite the tremors.
Each day, new shakes: thew thief,