Ties, poetry by Sarah Shihab at Spillwords.com

Ties

Ties

written by: Sarah Shihab

 

Passing beetles crawl, and I wave.

I whisper more than usual, yet I stand to breathe.

I promise the ground has its own witnesses, and sprained wrists will heal. I live on this earth as a woman, after all, not a foreshadowed spectator.

The classic lady must always consume mud as soul; learn of how mulch is most oppressed. I let my eyes water at the sight of mint, and I will not be seen outside a cathedral unless the freeway is near. I ponder yet I know I lost my wounds to the fire.

You think of me as secular and refrain from using my name. I am sure you would guess to know it, or maybe you would ask God, and he would tell you he has never known it, for he does not know me.

We have not met, so the bugs who try to reach the clouds do so for me in hope of an introduction. I choose not to warn them of how frail that staircase truly is.

The rain washes their wrecked clusters away—I pretend to act shocked.

If only the sky would part and let the maggots implore for my goodness rather than sending each one down to the windpipe that lives outside of me, away from my throat.

Call it a Catholic longing I refuse to waste of—your fruit is too sacred, and my figs have now fallen.

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Latest posts by Sarah Shihab (see all)
  • Ties - February 3, 2025