Maryam Ala Amjadi – Underneath

The butterflies of my headscarf
are pilgrim worms that have always crawled up
the laddered gloom of my vocal cords.

And by the strident testimony of my heels
the life I walk is half dead on the blindness of scales
while the immature conquerors of our alien triangles
feed on the generous familiarity of our circles.

Tell me,
How many shrouds of laughter and wrath should we stitch
so the trampled body of this silence is never vertical
again?

The flowers of our drowsy dresses no longer wish to await
a mating wind that scatters motherless dreams
on the dizzy denial of an earth
that can offer equal warmth only to horizontal feet
and avenge the uneven passion of the pair that
treads on her.

Skirts unite the stupor of legs for
trousers to divide and rule.

a file cabinet on the east bound state road

six drawers of the universe

filled with life he could not leave behind

twenty year commitment gone,

thick neck and morning lit face

parked up station wagon

silver leaf scars rusting

doors with rattling windows,

behind a marriage gone like perspiration,

a third from the sun creature

pushed into the office

low humbled

shoulders shrugged into body,

grasped that file cabinet

dragged it to the door lifting carpet tiles,

tailgate flipped open,

company property someone shouted

another mentioned 911,

all other lives abandoned

this was all he had,

one last look

eyes like roses on granite,

pulled away

smearing rubber traces,

freeway surrounded by suburban houses

urban outcrops to his canyon

that became a void,

cassette music kept the corpses away

those corpses of the past

that seem to claw and linger,

a siren

was it for him,

tailgate flipped lock busted

as file cabinet slid progressively out,

braking hard

it dropped on blacktop

engine stalled

a dead bronze beetle

car horns swarmed about,

grunting stood upright that grey oblong

last piece of life

scuffed and scraped,

small key on his chain unlocked top drawer

took out a warm shaken bottle of whiskey

and the gun he kept here since his wife

became afraid,

sucked in air

climbed on top and sat crosslegged,

heaven had shadows that would not conceal him

as he waited,

bullhorn call on gentle breeze

curved outline of the day a flat surface,

and a smile so human appeared

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sucking in breath

sunburnt man

wretched and weary

beneath light and rain,

thunder smelled of goatskin

and musky aftershave,

steps taken like a drunk

falling on his own

sky crossed with jets

over the park

those travelling to another

countries sun to relax,

as slowly it ceased

shimmering haze

brought glare to eyes

worn with failing status

once he was among the rest

spewing from subway to curb

urgent and despairing

eager to get home,

that place with a yard

spill of ivy

trimmed lawn,

but that page had turned

fortune walked away like

everyone else,

yet his eyes sparkled

renewed vigor in his step,

he saw the torture he once

experienced,

now he belonged to no one

bank, employer, wife

even country,

he was an independent state