Swell Zine: Poetry

Requisition

Tell me how to feel as numb sets in,
displaced between memories
that refuse to abate.
A hush of air,
brush of familiarity.

I set my seat among you,
unfold my chair in the opposite direction,
steal your place with my eyes.

I asked one day
as hills rolled along,
wind funneling through your hair,
gray and receding.

But you wound yourself around words
until we crashed,
and all I could see was the beginning
of unanswered questions.

I lie
comatose
as your presence bleeds into mine,
as night sinks in to day,
not sleeping for fear
that I will drown in your memory;
nightmares will bruise my bones,
scrape the flesh inside me
to find me
dead and brittle by sunrise.

No one would know.
No one would know.

Raw

I kissed you
one night,
that insoluble moon
spinning
between us,
fat, dripping in
virulent yellows,
so foreboding
I almost
changed
my mind.

But I stepped forward
anyway,
the raw chill of night
temporarily distilled
as I brought my lips
to yours.

You must have noticed me
moving closer,
but you almost stumbled,
that arrogant expression
fading into something
soft and tenuous,
an unnerving silence
wedging between us
as we pulled apart.

"I like to be in control,"
you said
as light
spilled off your amber locks,
splaying across
the bridge of your nose.

I wondered if it was your
Butchness, your
Intersex body, or your
Black skin
that induced this fear
of vulnerability,
and I pushed my
blue-gray eyes away
before moving them back
to answer.

My words came out
tense,
almost harsh,
biting into charged air,
and you surprised me
with a laugh
so brazen,
I smiled
despite my petulance.

When I left you
yesterday,
I thought of that
first kiss.
I packed my belongings
into boxes,
shoved them into the hallway,
and regarded our apartment.

It looked full without me.
There were no
empty walls or rooms,
no dead space,
the last traces of me
swept away,
my existence
erased.

I thought of your
sexy smile,
the way your head dipped back
when I entered,
breasts falling to the side,
the hardness between your legs;

A slammed door,
shattered glass,
faint undulation of breath,
a mixture of whimpers and moans;

The depression and fear
that propelled us
as we fought for control,
fought for
that kiss.

I bit the inside of my lip
until blood drew,
swallowing my bitterness
with grim satisfaction,
and closed the door,
walking away,
plagued with an emptiness
so finite and desperate that
I almost
turned back
and lost myself
all over
again.

Hope

I consider my thoughts in silence,
tongue weighed down...
your ubiquitous smile stretching easily
across a broad face, shiny brows, arched,
thick and black.

Your words abate my worries,
smother any fear lingering
as I offer my hand, my mouth, my body
arching as your fingers touch
the wetness of me.

But I don't respond
or listen
when you talk;
self-indulgence induces a listlessness,
a sort of umbrage,
a drooping of the head,
wandering eyes,
clumsy behavior
detected by your
shrewd glare.

I can only shrug,
blame the early morning
or lack of sleep
to justify this callous smile,
these fledgling amends,
the deserted insides that carry me
down Broadway.

I drop you off at the corner of
Clark and Halsted with a cool expression,
your unerring eyes
hesitate,
a worried glance so translucent
it unmasks your Butchness,
and increases my guilt of
entering into this love thing
as a vagabond,
knowing one careless day
I will desert you,
my beautiful,
surrogate love.

Sarah Haas graduated from Columbia College Chicago in 2001 with a BA in Performing Arts. She is an independent choreographer/performer whose work focuses on bridging communities by presenting cultural works that promote education and social justice, specifically with regard to women's rights. Her last work, Heroine, which was co-choreographed with Suzanne Dado, received Critic's Choice in the Chicago Reader. She is a former member of Hedwig Dances and Breakbone DanceCo, and has danced for numerous independent choreographers in the Chicagoland area. Her writings have been published in Sunnyside Magazine and SWELL.