

“Keloids” brilliantly articulates the entangled and complex emotions of medically tending to a daughter after a state-sponsored bombing. The traumatic nature of the event is fully revealed in the poem’s tone and structure which oscillates between verse and prose lines, much like the speaker’s role as mother and doctor. More than rendering us aware of the duality of the speakers’ identity, the poem does the work of witnessing, each utterance sutures not just the speaker’s psychic wounds, but, for the moment, our world spiritually harmed by global violence.
Words from Major Jackson on our 2025 Peseroff Poetry Poem
Keloids
by Seema Jilani
my daughter’s scars are raised welts / when Beirut
smashed its glass into her / my steely doctor hands
kept us whole / she will survive a blast / but
we never forget the despair of watching a parent cry
limbs hemorrhage / so do braveries / I cradle her / lullabye
her alive / a man’s head drips warm blood on us / pretend
we are swimming / I coax / she oscillates / wavy consciousness /
we double helix / like when she suckled my breasts / nursing,
doctoring
call ortho / I say in my best physician voice / our ER
doesn’t take orders from nannies they say / I realize
I am still brown / my daughter is still white / and we are
still in Beirut, after all / I doctor anyway / calculate her
ketamine / push IVs / her eyes zip horizontal / no more
pain / I gift her amnesia too / then switch back to
mama / tender forehead strokes to congealed hair
this ache, it is mothering.
I birthed a child / not my pain, not a friend, not myself,
just her / sometimes, I will be the one wounding her /
sometimes, she will break me
my mamma says men can’t stomach grief / you turn away / can’t
look / I lend one hand to her syringe / the other to your shoulder
it is mothering, this ache.