Amee Nassrene Broumand | Lines for the Vampire | Poets Resist

Amee Nassrene Broumand is an Iranian-American poet from the Pacific Northwest. A three-time Pushcart Prize nominee, her work has appeared in Barren Magazine, Empty Mirror, The Ginger Collect, Menacing Hedge, Rabid Oak, Rust + Moth, Sundog Lit, & elsewhere.

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Also by Amee Nassrene Broumand: Two Poems Personal Death as the Apocalypse Bees

Poets Resist
Edited by Christine Taylor
January 22, 2020

Amee Nassrene Broumand

Lines for the Vampire

Sunset. The pale demon wakes, wailing.

I hear him at the door.

Mesmerized,

I worry my fingerbones into thorns.

Bathing becomes dark —

in my anxiety I slash my underbelly,

my temples, my throat.

My people blossom full of scars.

It’s cold tonight. Ice spreads across the roadways,

waiting for traffic at dawn. In the stillness between

breaths, eternity sounds an aching note.

I tell myself everything will be all right,

that all suffering passes into something like grace.

I tell myself many things. Still

the night collapses inwards upon itself.

Scars, thorns, & roses. So transcendent on summer evenings,

the roses lift their heads in amber light.

Tonight I know the fear that flutters at the door —

oil runs through my veins

& they know. They know.

Diasporas happen. Just like coups.

So many of us learned to smile in sadness.

The vampire uncloaks, bloated with stolen vitality.

I don’t want this, yet it’s mine —

it’s ours —

again.

We run from one demon to another

or pretend there are no demons

or raise our fists to the night.

Meanwhile, empires eat us alive.

It’s how they continue.