I woke up in my grave before I died.
Not once, but time and darkening time again.
I’d heard the floor explode and then the space
that was the room changed places with the wall.
I was drowned in brick, was gripped, was turned
to dust, became a mote of broken plaster,
became the blinded space within the crack,
a gritted tongue of gravel filled my mouth.
I moaned—a kind of ecstasy this death.
But I was not so dead I couldn’t hear.
I heard the fire fighters’ calling, and
their weeping. They said we came for you
before we knew your name. But oh, we lost you
Rana Plaza: Shaheena will be published in a collection of her poems, by Grayson Books, in 2017.