To bury a curious girl
When I was younger,
I stood on a mountain of pillows
With a brave decision to swallow a whole finger. My father insulted me
because I am curious.
All his life he wished to have a non-trouble baby whatever girl or boy.
My forefathers preferred to bury baby girls rather than put them
In carriages and sing them a lullaby.
I was born with a great motivation to scratch the sky upon my shoulders, crazy monkeys and heavy weights, I used to bake my grief each night
And through the daylight, while they’re trying to sell me,
I spend my time calculating the distance between my gender and my awaited funeral.
When I took my first steps, my tribe circled around me like bees.
They approached figuring out that I have
thighs and breasts. They tucked me in the
obedience pocket, they dwelled me in an iron cage.
They ate my wings, my
ears. When I was younger,
I crawled towards my father’s shoulders, I whispered, “how far does the world extend?”
He frowned and replied “just, look at the space between your legs."
Prayers from Our House Roof
We were boiling bananas on the roof of our house.
Mother’s laughter clutched the heart of my ears.
She was gossiping with a neighbor.
Mother was storytelling, sweet as poetry. I loved
To watch her tongue play the music of conversation.
They worked on their knees, their noses colored by wood smoke. Boiling bananas was like a prayer
We whispered, sang with faces lifted up,
We made art through peeling bananas, slicing them into pieces to boil on the fire, hoping for a kiss on a cheek
From a bird; an old hymn bathing our exhausted souls.
At the roof’s edge, I overlooked a cavernous grotto, and I saw God cooking for children like me. I watched him prepare the dinner table for them in heaven,
A kingdom of mercy. I stretched my arms
to touch the magic, then ran to my
mother, whimpering
That I saw God cooking for the children.
She smiled but continued talking with her neighbor. I yelled
At my mother for attention, pointing, but she just smiled. I kept watching God make delicious food for one hundred children gathered on their knees around him, longing in awe. I waved to them,
But they didn’t notice me. I imagined the smell from our rooftop carried a kind of hope.
Under my bare feet, bananas peels and two bowls, one for us and the other for the hungry people
In our neighborhood. It became a ritual ever since one hundred children had died of hunger,
One hundred innocent souls vanished.
I swear I saw God cooking for them,
but no one believed me; they just kept smiling
Transformation
I dream of cockatoo birds sipping milk from the sky
I fly from corner to corner holding sugar, wine, and more funny jokes.
God is up sitting on his throne watching how the earth dances under my bare feet.
Kisses, wishes and more than that riding silver horses.
Creamy cloud falling down close to my head singing an old song.
My bones covered by the rhythm. My tongue turned into a butterfly. I sway in the air
thinking of the worlds I pass dreaming of more honey rivers to have more fun,
wondering how many orphan girls still live within me.
I try to raise both hands throwing them to a new universal castle. I feel new again. I
sense more than being alive. There is something beyond happiness. There is delicious
beyond joy.
Believe me, there is music you have never heard of.
About the Author:
Amirah is an award-winning published poet. Her poetry collection "For Those Who Don’t Know Chocolate" published in February 2019 by Poetic Justice Books & Arts, and her illustrated children book: The Cocoa Boy and Other Stories published in February 2020, and her poetry book "How to Bury a Curious Girl" was published by Bedazzled Ink Publishing Company in 2022.
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