A mouthful of silence

Once there was a man
who laid himself upon me

I thought of us as a poem
black on white
strong yet fragile

I slowly began to rhyme
to move my hips and dance
to the rhythm of our poetry

While his hands slid under
my skirt, my skin
around my waist of time

My synesthetic figure of style

I dropped my guard
as he advanced, as he planted his iklwa sword
in my tummy, as he grabbed my voracious throat

And choked me with silence

(Don’t you know I’m a conquistador, he could have said. Striving to expand, to incorporate, to embody. To never loose ground, to always protect the borders of my lost land, my Kumari Kandam. He could have said. But he said nothing of that kind leaving me breathless instead with the sound of his withdrawing sword.)

 

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