Homeland

He detonates at 5 a.m.

The sound is unmistakable:first flesh, then second thoughts.

The windows rattle as we two women do in aftershock.

Bolt upright from the floor, you mutter, Bismillah.I shudder, Shit, and grab my swelling belly.

Usually, the head survives intact, a hand in a tree.

By 6 a.m. we quit Jalalabad.I apologize and disregard

your cold, coal eyes when I reach for the backseat’s only belt.