haze (edited)

 she said: 

'i know what it's like to look for love, to wish something into existence, 

but my dear, the earth will survive a thousand wars before it learns to conceal you from pain.' 

a warm fog of smoke masks my mother's tired and tearful eyes, she sits beside me on the bed placing a cup of Karkade next to my shivering hands. 

Karkade was my mother's remedy, she would often tell me there isn't a passing sickness it wouldn't help cure. i remember the quiet nights in Sudan when the neighborhood was stilled with the sounds of Azaan (call to prayer). 

down with a feverish dream i'd hear my mother's distant footsteps in the kitchen, making me a cup of tea, she would blow twice on the cup and tell me to utter a passing prayer for the fever to go away. 

 was it faith in your words Ummi, 

or was it a habit 

but i never once dared to doubt the magic of Karkade

Ummi... 

the years…

the years aren't as forgiving  

as you might think 

i'm older now, much older 

that not even your beloved tea could cure this broken heart.

she brushed my hair softly, brought my head to her shoulder to whisper, 

'once upon a time; 

once upon a wandering light of a twilight that visits me in the shape of a dream; 

a dream that places itself upon my body, to govern & cover me.

i talk to your father then...

i talk to your father & he asks about you, 

almost immediately, 

i tell him of the sort of beauty you've grown into

 he sighs into the unwilling air...’

 

does he miss me? 

i ask her in shivers 

‘in every corner, 

he promised

in every corner 

he said 

in every corner 

i've planted a lonesome prayer, to echo from the gates of heaven, 

i am here. 

i will always be here.’

she answers

holding me closer, 

as i drift back into sleep 

to the faint smell of a cold and untouched hibiscus tea.

rosewater baths (pt.1)

A different life can exist behind closed doors, where stillness strips away the daylight smiles of the outside world, for longer nights of sorrows and a silent pride. During these nights, I would meet myself on the bathroom floor, succumbing to the cold against my skin, to ease the beatings of a raging heart. 

"Sam..." I dropped my gaze in fear of meeting hers, how can I begin to speak of everything and nothing? How different will it be this time? Will shame tie my tongue before honesty can release me? She brushed my hair in silence and poured a little warm water on the crown of my head as if to reassure me 'take your time, this night is ours' without breaking the silence in a space she created just for me, a space so full of love and attentiveness. 

"I wish you knew how much I'm trying to stay afloat" I whispered as I let go of my fists to the bottom of the bathtub, "I wish you knew how much I'm trying" I repeated mostly to myself echoing a tired affirmation of each day I woke up to tell myself that today will be different, yet it never is. 

I carry bruises and scars of faded colors of innocence and stolen childhood, how can I outrun a past that still lives in this body? A body that I came to know through his gaze, every touch that followed each inch of my growing body... It does not belong to me, this body feels more his than it ever did mine. 

A single tear betrayed me that I quickly washed over with water. Rosewater my sister's favorite remedy for difficult nights. The smell alone brings back memories of when my mother would soak us both in the bathtub before bedtime. A part of me always longed for those rosewater baths, I didn't know it at the time but those moments were always suspended as the only safety I'll come to know. 

Trauma can create gnawing gaps and life often falls right through. Days turn into weeks and months vanish meaninglessly. I can't remember when the abuse started or ended, I can't remember why or where it happened, I can't remember what I was doing, what I was feeling, I can't remember anything that would make this pain lighter to carry. 

"Is it the bad dream again?" Sam's voice was clothed in worry she's not accustomed to, I looked up to catch a glimpse of her face that hid her emotions so well. Sam was always the strong one, ever since she was young, people always said she'll be going places, and she kept every word like a promise while creating a larger life outside of our family's reach. I hated that she left me behind with the rest of her past. 

"Yes," I answered quietly. 

"Did you see what was chasing you?" Sam asked me while bringing my hands to hers to massage my knuckles. 

"No, I only remember the darkness I fell into..." I broke off. 

She was staring at me conflicted about whether she should speak or wait for me to say something, this is the awful score of years of distance; we forgot how to trust in each other, or how easy it was to speak to one another. The silence that felt so vulnerable was becoming as chill as this water engulfing me. 

The hardest truth to swallow is recognizing that I will never find healing in those around me, yet I keep searching, not for people but for the memories they trigger; memories that would testify to a happy and protected child once upon a time.