August 23, 2024Ghazal of And
after Aimee Nezhukumatathil
Sometimes, in school, I felt lonely thinking about conjunctions and
commas. The sentence ended before I knew it, but I wanted and.
What is more beautiful than the place where two strangers meet?
Like seaweed washed ashore, I birth a sigh when I touch the sand.
I call too many places home, feel guilty for it. I want to be
faithful to one. Or maybe, instead, I want to stop loving land.
My mother used to tell me that good things come in threes.
Maybe she’s right. I wonder if she’s looking for a third hand.
When one leg moves, the other must, too. I want more freedom
than this. I relapse in the space between where my two feet stand.
Some nights, I want to listen quietly to friends who say nothing.
To be human is to want paradox. Two poles connected by and.
—from Rattle #84, Summer 2024