Between my shadow and my soul

So pretty

How beautiful are flowers 
Pressed between two sheets of glass 
Preserved in eternity in an odourless, 
Colour-draining existence 
Like when she thought she was 
Moving, touching, building
The background music was grandiosely baroque 
And the images she saw were real and vivid,
Years she spent in this ideal, fascinated, saturated
Until one day she tried to move and realised 
She would have to just sit and wait.
Yes, no, yes, there was no mobility here, no 
Fluid, grainy, joint-creaking, none of that 
So she screamed and screamed in a tone 
That had no sound, kicking with phantom limbs 
Until she died, as perfectly still, as the moment of her birth


Eve's leaves, Adam's eyes, this is more than squabblings over forbidden fruit
For thirteen years we've touched with my every movement,
So much so, that to seperate would be like to wake up one day
And discover you've lost all visible traces to your parental ethnicity;
Can you imagine the loss, the confusion, the instinct to hide away?
Like any connection, it has its implicit understandings, to uphold this
I need to accept like any ethnic minority, majority, Americanphobiority
How others and Others associate a myriad of identities,
Bigot, frigid, judging, scared, ignorant, conformist, whateverist
That tell me they've found something to latch on, to comfort them
Just like the be-longing we have, my Hijab and I