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54 Chador Bat, a Qasideh Ballad It just turned spring.This poem, “Chador Bat,” A baharieh, must first mention that. I didn’t want to work in the orchard With cousin Shirin (she called my mom fat). “A-choo.” I faked terrible allergies (Dramatic culture taught me how to act). “Stay home, Haji-jan,” said my grandmaTaj; “We’ll water the norangis and come back.” I raced through the house in my aunt’s chador, A child of the night out on the attack. A Persian qasideh ought to diverge Midway through its theme:This poem does that. It first doubts the verisimilitude, Questions of figurations versus fact. It then critiques the Orientalist Perspective of what this poet looks at. Biography follows, significance Of this poet named Roger Sedarat. Reductive scholarship begins to kill The preteen spirit of the chadored bat. So I again fly around my aunts’ house, Escaping stupid postmodern chitchat. 55 Thus, the qasideh returns to its theme As it recreates tension in climax. I stood upon her vanity to stare Into the mirror. “Look, I’m Aunt Bejat.” Open-shut. First man, then woman. How free In spring to find I could be this or that. Dichotomous mystery. And God said, “Let the mouse be juxtaposed with the cat.” Language inevitably slips and veils The meaning behind names like “Aunt Bejat.” The truth is she was on her way back home Like the kid’s mom in The Cat in the Hat. I didn’t know. I was having a ball In her room, swinging my dick like a bat. “Sheitune!” she screamed (calling me devil). “Haji-jan, tell me, why would you do that?” The truth is I had no real idea. It hurt to see my aunt so shocked and sad. I quickly hid my nakedness in shame With my uncle Hajdayee’sWorld Cup hat. I walked away backwards, stepping over Her chador on the ground like a dead bat. ...

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