Speak by Raghad Rijraji

Posted on April 27, 2013 by

0


(Here’s me being bloody honest and shivering at 3 AM.

 

You see,
I swear you could’ve mistaken my heart
for a downpour this morning, it was just as urgent and just as desperate;              the rain and my heart make too much noise and too little sense.
I had to beg my gushing blood to flow more gracefully because all this                               noise was
attacking
my prayers
like a swarm of bees.

So you and I picked up the habit of swallowing rosaries

with our morning coffee to fix up all the holes in our prayers.
We could no more
confess our sins than
we could stop feeding on them.

 

We did not wish                   to become parrots,

trained to invite                everyone inside ourselves,

and so we settled into this silence.

We recognized

how safe we wanted our minds to be.

We recognized them

as temples,

and we realized how much we loved the rats and the roaches living up there.
We lulled each other

into a certain kind of calmness

until we woke up one morning to find ourselves

living in

a silent film,

with our bodies greeting each other

with         an arching of the back

and           a kissing of the hips.

You taught me to

discard of all the

 

 

MORES and the YESES

and to start

planting

angry

half-moons

onto

your back

instead.

 

I’m familiar with this yearning for softness;

the need to speak with our palms

and to put all of our faith in the

forgiveness offered inside our eyes, saying:

here, all of it is yours, take as much as you want tonight.

You once spoke to me in words,

cupped your hands around my ears and whispered

“Stop living in abandonment.”

and I remember how you sounded

so

final.

 

Our words were like newborn babies,

angry with the world,

wailing, naked, weak,

so we left them.

We surrendered to this instead.

Whatever this may be,

we heard it calling for serenity and we answered.

We might have decided at one point to leave the windows

of the house wide open                so we could listen to

the wind blowing through,               but it was our decision.

Our decision

to study the noises that summed us up

with our mellifluous hush-ness.

Our decision to joke about this juxtaposition

of

heart and soul.

 

Darling, I might’ve woken up earlier than you this morning.

You’ll find me in the kitchen,

making coffee and smoking the silence we’re so fond of.

It is so pure that we don’t have to worry about growing cancer in place of  comfort.)

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