the last time
meryem nuh you flew us to a night held so tight in my fist that broke everything it touched in soft crystal melodies. where i was fat snowflake and doorways you wouldn’t cross and questions you wouldn’t ask. cupped like the moon holding its craters to its breast in a cushion on the backseat of your car i asked you how is it that the throat swallows anything you give it without a question. you laughed in crinkly eyes and said i am naïve. people stare at us like we are two monuments crumbling and they’re tourists inside our bodies. my backbone cringes and sounds like the weather is softly telling me to give up. i forgot to sweep myself together in heavy humid room before we would call it ‘the last time’. my ankles are wet tattoo skin fresh and stained and stinking of crushed indigo and holding me to earth and you are the sky; orange citrus and belly of sea and far and the only thing i can’t touch anymore. |
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About the Author:
meryem nuh is a 20 year old woman of color, living in india. she writes poetry about being black, muslim, woman; about culture and self. her interests vary from cats to malcolm x. her work has appeared in vagabond city lit and the squawk back. she is the editor-in-chief at artrefurbish, outreach director at vagabond city literary, and a writer at qahwa project.
meryem nuh is a 20 year old woman of color, living in india. she writes poetry about being black, muslim, woman; about culture and self. her interests vary from cats to malcolm x. her work has appeared in vagabond city lit and the squawk back. she is the editor-in-chief at artrefurbish, outreach director at vagabond city literary, and a writer at qahwa project.