The Chapters Will Write Themselves

words drip from
         my fingertips
and slip off my
         tongue onto
the pages of my
         life, that I
keep writing
     and t-trying to
     rewrite

there is no eraser.
  no backspace, no
     delete. only
margins for error,
     pages for them;
                  of them.


they can, at best,
   be reduced to
              footnotes.
but what if I
   wanted them to be
a chapter?

The chapters will
     write themselves.
word by word.
     space by     space.

breath by
               baited
  breath.

inhalation. exhalation.
fullstop. comma.
              ellipsis...

they'll neatly fold
 over
when complete

and ever so gently,
   or maybe sometimes
with a ____jolt
start anew.

the chapters, love,
   will write
                  themselves.

Half a crescent

When it's been
       about half a
        crescent of
         a moon

and you're thinking
       about a fort-
         night ago

already reminiscing.
        It's time to let
                 go, baby.
        It's time,
               to let go.

I promise you -
  it will lift
    it will lift
     it will lift.

The smog will
  separate. and
light will seep
  through.

Darkness will
 slowly but surely
turn to light.

You will wither
  and bloom.

Moon Sisters

Birthing bone.

  Crown of strength. 

Fully fledged maleficent

    Woman

The moon.

We hold each other 

firm.

    Strong

Blood sisters

At the start
    of the only month
I've come to
    __understand. When
I don't long for
     any lover's touch

you crawl into
    my bed and
surround me
  with your warm
                   hea(r)t

taking the blood
      that br/
                 eaks
from me and
           building
a bond
        eternally strong.

You, are my
reinforced
              lining,
  blood-line
of my choosing.
           my kin.

Honey

Sweet molasses
 our synergies
multiplied
             bring.

Only the
 darkest honey
is delectable.

It grants shifa
 and lines the
river beds of
           heaven.

But are we
    not eachothers
shifa (healing)
             h(e)aven.

Phantoms

Pain. So much pain.
 when did it start? i
jog my memory - can't
recall.

Was it the day he struck
 me with the back of his
strong sinewy hand? Or the
 time i saw him approach
and felt a wet stream run
 down my legs?

Was it when i didn't want
 to go home from school - no
wait - the time I couldn't bring
 myself to go to work?
because i knew what awaited
 me for unhinging the cup-
board door - or was it not
 performing the way i thought
he needed me to? or was it packing
the
 washing away while it was
still damp - or him, or them,
 swearing at me from the
corridor?

Fear. So much fear.
Time warps. My
 ripe uterus coils up in
it - harder - every four weeks.
 My heart beats it, un-
predictably, but like
 clockwork at some point
every day.

What evokes it? is it
 really that i am feeling
death crawl up the arteries
 in my left arm, and is it
really death's spokes in
 my chest amidst a lunch
meeting - no when i travel
 across the world to check on
his health?

Why does the coiling up
 of my uterus feel so
comfortable compared to
death pull-
 ing at the strings of
my life-line on the daily?

yet at the same time why
 do they both cause
me equal but opposite anguish -
 complementary burdens -
partners in this product
 of angst and biology
of nature and nurture.