~For Hema
My body disturbs the air
No one is happy when I smile
There’s always a dirty old man
with a knife whispering in my ear
There’s always God’s hand
on my shoulder holding me down
≈
The phone rings
The phone rings
Ya Allah, help me
not to become a bitter
and loveless woman
≈
My head almost came off
There were arms all around me
The phone rang, but I couldn’t answer
There were clouds of smoke
curling around my head
I was only real when I
touched myself. Who is this
man whispering in my ear
knife in his hand, beard
on his chin?
≈
I recorded my life in knots
Each knot lay on a string
This portion of pain was mine,
this was yours
≈
The beasts were the men
on the corners, and in all
the spaces in-between
They hid, unshaven
droopy eyes, skulking bodies
Their hunger for human flesh
startled me out of my skin
≈
My body was beautiful
but I didn’t know it
When there was no one
to touch me, I touched myself
When the curtains closed
in on me, I couldn’t free myself
When the phone cords
entangled me, I couldn’t
call myself. When my breasts
were still present (not cut off)
I stared in the mirror
at their stunning beauty
≈
There is nothing
like my naked body
to stop a room
to end conversation
≈
The phone rings
The phone rings
Ya Allah, help me
not to become a bitter
and loveless woman
Author’s note: Note: Vicuña’s work, including her gorgeous painting “Amaranta” led me on many journeys. I learned of time and its fluidity and recalled the Desi myth of the Chureyl. It’s believed that when a woman dies a violent death, or dies with unfulfilled desires, she roams forests and graveyards, sometimes naked, taking her revenge on the men who hurt her and others who get in her way.
This piece is from our Winter 2021-2022 in-residency series, The Amaranta Project.
