Image by Robert Young. Reproduced under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 2.0 Generic License.
Sobriquetsaf my mother who named me calls me in & into tendernesssmooth bead of sound in the mouth the shortening we safaa(purity) & safia (pure) sharei walk through the airport & walk through the world thinking everyone(soft) (stop) (sob) is calling to me thinking everyone knowsmy small intimate names (scarf) (scoff) & i belong by accidenti search for up every timeFajr,modern York Citythe philosopher turns in his sleep dark hair a cursiveon the pillowcase & i want to unlatch my bodyfrom its own sinking & care for him backlater he tells me he loves my sadness & insteadof saying that’s not me i’m here somewhere behind iti pretend to be asleephis specific smell of pomegranates & smokeunlatches from his body to visit me at nightyears later in a city we do not sharehis city burns on the news & i mean to call himbut he has since sealed up the wound belongingto my name i miss him when i sit in airplanesi miss him when an orange spark latches itselfto a coal i sit inside my small & unsavedlife & his haunting guards me carefullywhile i float in & out of sleepThese poems appear in The Lifted Brow #32. derive your copy here, or read it in digital form here.
Safia Elhillo is the author of The January Children, and forthcoming in 2017 from University of Nebraska Press.
Source: theliftedbrow.com