First date & Yunus & Reminder to self on the keihan line (uji->gion-shijo) (Copy)
First date
First date. I'm sitting across from this woman, dainty, pretty, yoga-type woman – she talks about the female body and traveling in Europe and
how she couldn’t possibly live in Latin America because of the collective suppressed trauma unacknowledged, how she doesn’t have the
connections, the roots to be able to engage deeply–
And I roll my eyes, like okay sure white guilt, you are unable to live in a place because it is uncomfortable (please tell me why it is
uncomfortable)
And I realise
(Suddenly)
I am jealous
That she can feel at home in a place–
not even just a room or a building or a postcode, but a country, a continent
And feel the hands of her mother and mother’s mother and mother’s mother’s mother on her shoulders without it feeling like a threat or a
promise
And that I do not understand this feeling
And for all the things that she will never get, I never get this
Chameleon skin shimmering, intelligent, resourceful, resilient enough to plant myself anywhere in the world! And survive! Thrive if you squint and
are looking through the cracked lens of neoliberalism!
Last year as the days started to get longer I wanted to plant flowers in my backyard
Picked out pink fuchsias, plump and full, carnations tall, proud (chin up)
Compost and fertiliser and gardening gloves with tiny bees on them
Dirt on my face and in my hair, I pulled bindweed milkweed blackberry
And was only able to dig three inches into the ground before I hit a bed of rock and stones
I stuck them in the ground, roots barely covered, not with the fertile soil of heritage, lineage, wisdom passed down through specific
combinations of spices the way to position your tongue in your mouth on the “dh” how to fold a sari but with the found connection of oh, you’re
different too, do you too know that feeling of a part-amputation of the soul, the ghost of that lost bit lingering in the abstract space next to your
heart
And I am so jealous
That this is another thing that she gets to lay claim to, this
Oh my home my country my homeland my people–
And I quest for it, find a sliver in the postcards on my wall, the indomie and linghams well-stocked in the cupboard, the shalwar I wear on a
regular work day
I seek it in the crook of your arm where I fit molded against your chest to cheek
a limpet maybe if I become a part of you break the boundary between us I can have some of yours
But it is not something that can be shared so easily
I lie in my bed alone, after this shitty date
I wonder how it is possible to miss something you never really had
To grieve for something that does not exist
She said, this was such a lovely evening, I hope we can do this again
Deep, meaningful eye contact, hand on my upper arm, it's like she’s expecting me to read her mind
I smiled, lie easily
(familiar, expected)
Cocksure grin, lean forward
Baby it’s like coming home
Yunus
I
You were in my dream last night
We were lying in the sand
It was grainy beneath my fingers
Even though you know I prefer a pebble beach
We were looking at the stars
Defining constellations
I'd never been able to pick pictures out of the sky before
A big fish floated across our gaze
Mouth open
(I know this is a sign, because I am a pisces and venus is actually in retrograde right now)
I wanted so badly for it to sink down and swallow us
To envelop us in its guts
A little gross, sure, but imagine–
A warm beating heart (hearth)
Walls that breathe (reliable, but not restricting)
Plucked out of the regular passing of time, a moment captured still, a snow globe inside this belly
Of getting sand stuck in my teeth and the weight of your hand next to mine (the barest of touches, little fingers hooked together, still an anchor)
and the echo of my voice as I sing carelessly tunelessly, stirring noodles on the edge of burning and lightness a lightness the lightness of
existing
II
And it aches, there’s an ache for this, a recurring injury kind of pain for this pocket place of familiarity
I want to scream
I know it I know it so well I know it’s good
And it is good
And there is also a realisation, slowly, gradually, and maybe this is what it means to know yourself
That scream the indignant know-it-all frustration of a kid that did not have the privilege of knowing better
In this shelter there is no light (although my skin is translucent the edges of fingertips glowing red against the heat of the sun)
The warmth cloys moist stinky stale
I cannot open the window, there is no window and sealing off the outside is the only way i know how to make a home
The ribs around us a cage
Wings pinned down where I can see them
I woke up and turned to the space you would have been
Hair sticking up, pillow crease pressed into your cheek
Clear as birdsong
Ringing in my ears
Reminder to self on the keihan line (uji->gion-shijo)
When the sun splits the sky open
And blue spills out
Splashes onto rooftops
When the train windows are big enough that you can watch the fields running into each other
And you are running too
The clouds whisper
You sing, badly, and it doesn't matter
How could I possibly not be in love
With this world, with you
Sabrina (they/she) is an artist of many modes. They enjoy bright colours, the sound of the ocean, and a really good stretch. Their work continuously orbits around the ungraspable concepts of belonging and home.