Blub — Ayesha Raees

I have no door in this body.        

                                                                          I am hammering.

At Home Depot. Wood comes in planks and sticks.

                                                                          I strike right into my count.

I am apologizing at my job.

                                                                         I am grateful for a job.

For these points to go up on my bank’s screen.

                                                                         Every other week.

My video game.                 

                                                                         My level up.

Until my visa ends.

                                                                         Until square one.

So far. So good.

                                                                         This hammering without nailing.

This banging without banging.

                                                                         I have forgotten to eat today.

I haven’t been able to call my mom for a week today.

                                                                         8 hours of sleep. 8 hours of work. 8 hours in blub.


                                                                         Don’t forget.

Anyone can enter this body.

                                                                         This body has no knob or lock or clock.

It’s instilled in gape. In muted outcry.

                                                                         In a land named after divide.

I am now more child when child.

                                                                         I mean I am 26 meowing at dogs at Prospect Park.

I mean I am running up to crowds and smiling like some sun. 

                                                                         I mean I am collecting rocks just to throw them back at the surf. 

I mean I am raising my lips to foreheads. My hands to pat heads.

                                                                         I mean I can’t stop blabbering.

I mean I am thirsting.

                                                                         Underneath the bed covers, water falls.

Into a well once a tower sticking its tongue to blue sky.

                                                                         This body lips image. Until.

Gentle and full. Until.