‘I will not pretend
to be lost in the yoyo tug of her tongue.
I know the word for ‘alone’
in every stuttering language I speak.’
Thank you to all the spirits who put Fatimah Asghar into the world. It is clear that she was placed here, for she is not a writer who happens by chance, but rather a writer that seems to have the gift of language in her blood. Fatimah writes of culture, gender, loss, love, war, & sex over a lush landscape of language and imagery that is over ripe with wit, honesty, and truth. In that same light, Fatimah plays with our definition of what can be true, creating a realm where the idea of truth itself is complicated and often a lie. She gives herself space to maneuver wildly and vulnerability in the emotional field of the work, able to invent truth without ever being in danger of pretending. This is the dance of her work, to blur the space between what we believe and what we know, to muddy reality, or rather, to finally see reality for what it is. Fatimah draws us into her world, sets the rules, gives us the privilege to view upon it, all the while we are seduced into whatever she allows light. A gifted writer in multiple genres (poetry, playwriting, and the beautiful and often unsung lyric essay), Fatimah is doing the work with a fresh voice, one that sings as unique as a voice can get. Her gifts of craft and raw, needed fight prove the work of a woman with graceful and experienced hands, of gentleness and overwhelming strength. Folks, get into Fatimah Asghar! Let her work put its hand to your pulse, let her remind you how unreal you are.