Mira, I am complicit in my beheading. Persephone in the streets. Hecate in the sheets. Lousy, Loud. My navel is lined with the musk of Unwantedness. You murmur that my eyes are an incantation icebound in time—the snake-hooded Adam’s apple of a low prophet. This city inked itself from an alphabet of crows. You quiz me about the cobra gypsies, the bathtub gin, the calligraphy of myrrh in my hair. The first girl who jumps has already chanted her legs into hemp ropes. Blood thickened to eschatology. My homeland is time’s amnesia, a schizophrenic signature—a pessary, atavistic blot . You can italicize this lockjaw of wander, the sieved flashbacks of a wasteland I hooked between my two front teeth. An immigrant’s memory is gurfa—the amount of water that can be scooped in one hand. A body can’t will itself into a fact. Map as I am—a honeyed mongrel, a cold and precise animal. I howl and it is thistle. A river you milk to gnosis. Look at the way my eye blows up—pink pinhole, soft belladonna, the rubied gut of lamb we buried in the bomb shelter. Childhood Eyes. Child Who Dies. Shrapnel still shoving cargo under my skin. Synaptic bullfights. Your first cathedral starving its saints between the white light of my bones.
Note : Rroma refers to a multi-racial nomadic tribe that is often considered to be amongst the most disenfranchised and displaced communities in the world. I am half Rroma Spanish on my father’s side. Garganta Rroma translates loosely to "Rroma-throated."
The only possible return is inward, not backward. —Gustavo Pérez-Firmat
let us begin by blessing the mouth into a massacre.
let us say that i as a girl, am a hysterics of continuance
when continuance is bilked dry, is unwelcomed.
this blood i skulk is a river of glass wool—
whoever is touched is tendered into an arson.
in the psych ward i am pigeonholing vestiges
of a memory widened on the stirrups of DSM.
there are two kinds of exorcisms—procedural
and volatile. i have watched women turn into lightning
rods—splintered auguries unwavered by the brute force
of a scientific noumena. women limned in blue copperas,
misshapen waters—an oeuvre of thickset voltages you can't
dismember with your blunt thrusts. here is a diagram for how
the brain occults its collapsing flames. here is the medicine
hissing more omen than any assault. we are brought here to dig.
our own cadaver exquisito from the whittling of these night-
wounded agoras. we are taught to sleep amidst a mise-en-scène of
traumas too ample to ever be absent. i should be more than mere
compensation for muting your scars. should be more.
than a succession of lacks deciding how the body can be
disclosed. Or where.
Scherezade Siobhan is an Indo-Roma Jungian social scientist, community catalyst and hack scribbler. She is the author of a chapbook, Bone Tongue (Thought Catalog Books, 2015) , a full length poetry collection, Father, Husband, (Salopress UK) and a poetry pamphlet,"to dhikr, i" ( Pyramid Editions, forthcoming in 2017). She is the creator and curator of The Mira Project, a global dialogue on women's mental health, gendered violence and street harassment.
Cover image by Sarah Meadows