Uma Jagwani
the old man who lives in my ear
after Li-Young Lee
to teach me how to clean my ears,
my mother gave me a
healthy lie.
after my shower, in front of a fogged
mirror, i watched her grab cotton swabs
from her metal container, the lid zinging as it
opens, then muted as it's returned. she told me
about the old man, a farmer, that lived in my ear
working hard, day in, day out, to rake & shovel—with integrity
and forethought—my sticky ear wax. i was told
i had to thank this old man in my ears, for letting me
hear, and listen. i was told to use gentle motions,
to not disturb the man who sleeps in the day,
and works at night. that
that is why i cannot feel him doing his noble work—or
even say hello.
i do not remember if i stopped believing
he existed, or when my mother left me responsible for my own ears,
as i poked in piercing after piercing through my teenage years—
the old man never complained.
had you entered that day she whispered this explanation,
you would have seen my wide brown eyes engorged with awe:
this truth just awakened a new curiosity.
look at how i stare at my now matured face,
seven piercings total on both ears,
in a fogged mirror, as i reach for my cotton swabs,
feeling for the tiny old man, listening for my mother’s voice
my mother gave me a
healthy lie.
after my shower, in front of a fogged
mirror, i watched her grab cotton swabs
from her metal container, the lid zinging as it
opens, then muted as it's returned. she told me
about the old man, a farmer, that lived in my ear
working hard, day in, day out, to rake & shovel—with integrity
and forethought—my sticky ear wax. i was told
i had to thank this old man in my ears, for letting me
hear, and listen. i was told to use gentle motions,
to not disturb the man who sleeps in the day,
and works at night. that
that is why i cannot feel him doing his noble work—or
even say hello.
i do not remember if i stopped believing
he existed, or when my mother left me responsible for my own ears,
as i poked in piercing after piercing through my teenage years—
the old man never complained.
had you entered that day she whispered this explanation,
you would have seen my wide brown eyes engorged with awe:
this truth just awakened a new curiosity.
look at how i stare at my now matured face,
seven piercings total on both ears,
in a fogged mirror, as i reach for my cotton swabs,
feeling for the tiny old man, listening for my mother’s voice
cheap furniture
i wake up, i've lost sense of my limbs,
& my sleepy eyes are a shadowy forest.
in front of the mirror,
all i see is cheap furniture
pretending to be expensive.
plastic pretending to be birch, the body
is as replaceable as furniture
left on the sidewalk.
limbs of the
home severed from the heart—next week; the
table & its legs outside that house
will dissolve in desire,
into soggy fallen leaves
retreating into the bareness of winter, like the way
you cannot hide
desire in math.
one always needs another one,
& in dream you finally come back to me
as my groggy gaze meets yours,
& my sleepy eyes are a shadowy forest.
in front of the mirror,
all i see is cheap furniture
pretending to be expensive.
plastic pretending to be birch, the body
is as replaceable as furniture
left on the sidewalk.
limbs of the
home severed from the heart—next week; the
table & its legs outside that house
will dissolve in desire,
into soggy fallen leaves
retreating into the bareness of winter, like the way
you cannot hide
desire in math.
one always needs another one,
& in dream you finally come back to me
as my groggy gaze meets yours,
light enters the body as questions: do you want me? do you need me?
noodlz
1.
for dinner, my aggressively white roommate
decided to make her "famous"
peanut noodle recipe.
when she made it i said,
that's pad thai.
she said it wasn't exactly the same.
she offers me a bowl of noodles, smiles,
& says, "doesn’t that
smell good?"
for dinner, my aggressively white roommate
decided to make her "famous"
peanut noodle recipe.
when she made it i said,
that's pad thai.
she said it wasn't exactly the same.
she offers me a bowl of noodles, smiles,
& says, "doesn’t that
smell good?"
2.
it's second grade and my thermos is filled
with pancit.
my mother carefully packed my lunch
with a note that says, have a great day!
love, mama
as she does every morning.
my white classmate turns to me and says,
"ew, what is that? it smells weird,"
as they bite into their dry ham and cheese
sandwich from a ziploc bag.
it's second grade and my thermos is filled
with pancit.
my mother carefully packed my lunch
with a note that says, have a great day!
love, mama
as she does every morning.
my white classmate turns to me and says,
"ew, what is that? it smells weird,"
as they bite into their dry ham and cheese
sandwich from a ziploc bag.
3.
next week, i ask my mom to make me a PBJ for lunch.
next week, i ask my mom to make me a PBJ for lunch.
unpeck (CW: sexual assault)
everyone's eyes are closed,
mine are open,
they flutter and stare and lay glassy—
after the night you didn’t let me sleep and i wished i could fly out the window
when, like the male downy woodpecker,
your mating drum patterns were unsuccessful,
you still asserted your dominance, males can take all the larvae they want,
and you pecked and pecked and pecked at me—
both you and birds don't understand "no"
we downys are no songbirds, (no one
could hear me.)
i've never chirped about this, except to one person who told me
i was asking for it,
i know you can tell i'm a female by the lack of red stripe on my head, but your red stripe
does not entitle you to me,
i wasn't sitting on this branch,
waiting for you.
no one can unpeck me, you cannot unpeck me, all i can do is fly away from you, flock with my friends,
the songbirds who do sing, sing so loud i cannot remember—
the songbirds who do sing, sing so loud i cannot remember—
no penance necessary
at mass, i mean,
holy mass, the one that you respect because it is good
& healthy. because you are supposed to.
jesus is not here yet, but should
i save him
a seat? i figured he might come
soon, he's been keeping
lots of people waiting. (he did not.)
"god is
stupid," i think to myself, six years old,
unafraid of any wrath except
my Mother's. i wait for god to be bold &
smite me. (he did not.)
holy mass, the one that you respect because it is good
& healthy. because you are supposed to.
jesus is not here yet, but should
i save him
a seat? i figured he might come
soon, he's been keeping
lots of people waiting. (he did not.)
"god is
stupid," i think to myself, six years old,
unafraid of any wrath except
my Mother's. i wait for god to be bold &
smite me. (he did not.)
god does not need your money, i think,
as the tithe basket is hot-potatoed through pews.
don't think too loud: god might hear you.
my mother gave me a wrinkled five-dollar bill to place inside.
"it's respectful," she says. i glare.
she doesn't care. i sit on the bench
while everyone kneels. she can't make
me kneel today. we pretend we are certain
god is here.
pretending to know is almost knowing, but
not quite. like pretending
the wine is blood & the wafer, flesh.
as the tithe basket is hot-potatoed through pews.
don't think too loud: god might hear you.
my mother gave me a wrinkled five-dollar bill to place inside.
"it's respectful," she says. i glare.
she doesn't care. i sit on the bench
while everyone kneels. she can't make
me kneel today. we pretend we are certain
god is here.
pretending to know is almost knowing, but
not quite. like pretending
the wine is blood & the wafer, flesh.
the stars are too
far to ask.
far to ask.
but we reach for them anyway.
& settle for god.
& settle for god.
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