Peshawar, October 10th, 2013—The bullet entered through her head, severing the facial nerve, and getting lodged in her shoulder. It has missed the spinal cord. Her hearing is compromised, her brain is swelling in her skull, and her face is currently unresponsive.

()()()
“THEY HAVE SNATCHED HER SMILE.”

()()()
Safina lived down the block
over and beyond the trash heap.
She sat each day playing
with her
    toys and
wearing her jewelry that
she hid away under her bed in a
  shoe-box.

I used to stand beside
my father, copying his
mannerisms, pacing with his
nervous energy.

As he made calls on his mobile,
I would stand with my pink-plastic
phone and talk into the responding
         silence.

Safina took my mobile, stole it for her collection
and I cried.
Then I screamed.
And stole from that shoe-box.
I wore my newfound earrings and felt
      proud.

The growing guilt made me
SICK.

()()()
Rawalpindi, October 13th, 2013—Our medical facilities are inadequate to deal with an injury of this type. We are working on getting her sent abroad to Queen Elizabeth Hospital, Birmingham, England but the military is slowing the proposal. They wonder how it would look if she lives to request political asylum in England.

()()()
The Malakand Pass is now
the portcullis of an imposing fortress,
dreary and hate-filled,
desolate and oppressed.

We are crushed under the
weight of our
   saviors.

ARMY ZINDABAD!—long live
the Army.

Our heroes were worse
than our villains because
at least those devils had
the common decency to wear their
Hate
openly and without a coating of
SELF-RIGHTEOUSNESS.

()()()
Birmingham, October 17th, 2013—Her skull-section has been replaced and her hearing restored. Full recovery of mental powers and listening ability is expected with suitable rehabilitation. Her facial nerve is still healing from earlier surgery; extra therapy may be required.

()()()
Madam Maryam leaves a desk unoccupied
for me at Khushal—with a view out the window to
where
  the Sun
shines off Mount Elum.

and my name is scribbled in chalk:
    Malala,
from Malalai of Maiwand
whose name is grief-stricken
and whose martyr’s death shines
   brightly.

()()()
New York City, July 12th, 2013—She looks small behind the green podium raised on its imperious dais, the world wreathed in golden laurels shining behind her head. She says that standing up for one’s rights is a necessity and extremism is the path of cowards and tyrants. The world listens, but will the world act?

()()()
I don't remember the bullet,
But I do remember that we Pashto say:

“Rather I receive your bullet-riddled body with honor
      Than news of your cowardice on the battlefield.”