Accessory
Ayesha Raees
Let me know when you are ready
says the mare, with a gun
against my ear lobe. An ignored minute
cost my decades to salivate. Now
in this river, I dip my pierced head
and ask it to relieve itself of all
that is carbon. I once desired
my shoulders to handle the kind
of pressure that would turn my bones
diamond. Alas to that fantasy.
But I do see the sky
and thank its granted skin,
of how everyday I can count on it
to look the same over and over again. Online.
I asked a man.
What kind of jewel I should dangle my body with?
I wanted an answer, not a thing. A thing
can be picked up. Like a rock. Or an apple.
Or, when lucky, even money.
But my man has disappeared
without even giving my brain enough fuel
for a smoke signal let alone turn me
into fire. Offline.
Let me forget expectations
for even asking now is a sin.
I stare at my ceiling fan and visualize
noose. Again. It’s 4 PM. Some monsoon moment moves
my window panes. I find my pillow drenched
in pus. My ears infected. Gun holes
closed.
about the writer
Ayesha Raees identifies herself as a hybrid creating hybrid poetry through hybrid forms. Raees currently serves as an Assistant Poetry Editor at AAWW's The Margins and has received fellowships from Asian American Writers' Workshop, Brooklyn Poets, and Kundiman. From Lahore, Pakistan, Raees is a graduate of Bennington College, and currently lives in New York City. Her website is: www.ayesharaees.com