By Shaleez Razavi

If I’m lucky enough to birth a daughter
And she asks me where she’s from
I’ll simply tell her
She’s from a place.
A place with sour cherry trees
A place of endless rice fields
A place of persian rugs pomegranates and poetry
A place where I never had the chance to go.
My birth certificate said I was born in america
But I was the daughter of two iranian immigrants
I never had to walk barefoot on broken war crumbles
I never had to fear the law
I never had the scars my mother and father had
The cuts on their feet
The permanent bruises on their limbs
The marks that stained the body yet crafted the soul
I’m not a war
I’m not an oil well
I’m not the axis of evil they claim I am
I’m a woman of iran
It takes a lifetime to stop believing what the world has told you you are
Between my head and my heart
I’ve died for you
I’ve lived for you
But it is you who keeps me alive
I only ask that your curiosity guides you
I ask that you visit your home country
A place with sour cherry trees
A place of endless rice fields
A place of persian rugs pomegranates and poetry
A place where you will have the chance to go.

Honorable Mention: Shaleez Razavi
Marin Academy