Unending goodbyes
First, for my grandma. Then, everyone I think about often in this experience called immigration.
A poem to be performed for my grandma.
Grandma,
I am still looking
From above, I see greenlush somewhere
Soon beneath me, the sea
Atop, the blue-black midnight sky
Below is blue pain, water the depth of this immeasurable distance
Someone asks, "sweetheart, what do you want to eat?"
My stomach turns, flight food
I am churning memories I have ingested but time, time swallows
I can't necessarily recollect and condense, like cumulus clouds, our togetherness
Scattered perceptions of watching you sell tomatoes to someone. A thief. Church. A running crab.
A mango tree; the sweet taboo of too ripe brown mangoes
Lizards.
Listening to uncle listen to Marley and Dube.
Sharing one bed.
I long for the comfort of being cramped in one room with everyone I know
Empty space is loneliness, I despise a room of my own
If I had ever known sleep, it was only my rest underneath the slow breathes you take in bed
Turbulence is a euphemism for what dissonance this change of place will cause
Aeroplane.
In love with someone because they have stayed
I'm in love with this man only because he has stayed
We are sitting in a nameless restaurant
We order odorless food
We don't really talk
Occasionally, small chatter edifies us
Then, it's frank, slow breathes in bed
We are both the kind of tired sleep doesn't relieve
We are just searching for the allure of not being in a room alone
He is the embodiment of what that 15 minute call across the ocean does not assure
The stillness of time.
When finally reality fades and under the reminiscence of your breathing
That frank, slow breath
I dream aeroplanes
I am still in flight, I am still looking
Cotton-like precipitation like the clouds I flew in form under my eyes
I see why everytime I write pain, it is etched blue, it is the sea I crossed
It's as if I don't know what time has changed
And the miles have smoothly folded into the wings of a plane
I am still 9
And I am still waiving at you from the tarmac in Kotoka
The bitter beauty of this endless goodbye.
Poems for 72 Days, Poem 16.
A poem to be performed for my grandma.
Grandma,
I am still looking
From above, I see greenlush somewhere
Soon beneath me, the sea
Atop, the blue-black midnight sky
Below is blue pain, water the depth of this immeasurable distance
Someone asks, "sweetheart, what do you want to eat?"
My stomach turns, flight food
I am churning memories I have ingested but time, time swallows
I can't necessarily recollect and condense, like cumulus clouds, our togetherness
Scattered perceptions of watching you sell tomatoes to someone. A thief. Church. A running crab.
A mango tree; the sweet taboo of too ripe brown mangoes
Lizards.
Listening to uncle listen to Marley and Dube.
Sharing one bed.
I long for the comfort of being cramped in one room with everyone I know
Empty space is loneliness, I despise a room of my own
If I had ever known sleep, it was only my rest underneath the slow breathes you take in bed
Turbulence is a euphemism for what dissonance this change of place will cause
Aeroplane.
In love with someone because they have stayed
I'm in love with this man only because he has stayed
We are sitting in a nameless restaurant
We order odorless food
We don't really talk
Occasionally, small chatter edifies us
Then, it's frank, slow breathes in bed
We are both the kind of tired sleep doesn't relieve
We are just searching for the allure of not being in a room alone
He is the embodiment of what that 15 minute call across the ocean does not assure
The stillness of time.
When finally reality fades and under the reminiscence of your breathing
That frank, slow breath
I dream aeroplanes
I am still in flight, I am still looking
Cotton-like precipitation like the clouds I flew in form under my eyes
I see why everytime I write pain, it is etched blue, it is the sea I crossed
It's as if I don't know what time has changed
And the miles have smoothly folded into the wings of a plane
I am still 9
And I am still waiving at you from the tarmac in Kotoka
The bitter beauty of this endless goodbye.
Poems for 72 Days, Poem 16.
I love this poem. This blog is amazing but very confusing. Who is the blogger? Who is BB?
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
DeleteHi Lizzy,
DeleteThank you for your feedback. I am not sure if you will see this message but I hope you do! I am glad that you like the content on my blog. My name is Bridget and I graduated from college last year. As you can tell from my "About Me", this blog is simply an exploration of topics of interest to me. Thus, I talk about everything that comes to mind. In this sense, what you have here is a sort of "public diary". Moving forward, I plan on using this platform in a more specific way, ie. solely for my creative writing and less for reflection. Perhaps we can establish contact. Feel free to comment on my other posts/ and I look forward to hearing more of your ideas/feedback on the content here.