Poem
Momtaza Mehri
Oiled Legs Have Their Own Subtext
Oiled Legs Have Their Own Subtext
Oiled Legs Have Their Own Subtext
doctor says there is something wrong with your thyroid / you are knownto leak everywhere / to take the shape of whatever / wherever you are
poured into / you do not contest his claim / or any other man with his
hands around your throat / before the appointment / you slice a heart /
swallow breath mints to disguise / the miasma of desperation / slide a
ring onto each finger / bejewel a somatic distraction / let the Gulf of
Aden run ragged / from the twinned lakes / of shoulder blades / an
inherited wetness behind the ears / you kiss / the mirror’s cold navel /
with the kind of pride that comes naturally / to those born carrying
history as an extra limb / to the sticky yolk of grief / you do not think
you are a Good Person™ / not with the way you cough up contradiction
/ phlegm thick as Aramco / poverty’s slick jaw / or how you gloss your
mouth with a humanitarian shade of pink / dress each lie in crushed
pearls / but because you remember the names of your brothers / never
your sisters / your sister’s sisters / your sisters who are an occurrence /
never an event / never a shudder when they stop occurring / there is
nothing to mark their arrival / or leaving / Hodan aged 21 / and six
months / who doused herself in liquid surrender / set herself alight / her
second attempt at peace / in the bulletin thumbnail she wears royal blue
/ looks like a woman you would powder / your nose next to / at a
wedding / wrist against cheek / soft wick of her rimmed eyes / banjee
queen / doe-eyed diva / dhow-hearted / what did they do to you / onto
you / at Nauru Regional Processing Centre / what did this processing
look like / OPC1 / where detainees sew their lips together / silence
themselves before they are silenced / where women hoard cloths to plug
their bleeding / hide from both inmates and guards / carry the children
of men who did not ask / infants who did not ask / an island of orphans
/ of what could have been you / but is not you / will never be you / from
across the ambit / oh for fate’s insurgencies / its sweet edge / the
topologies of our lives / their sharpened sighs / soft implosions of flip-
flops/ on airport floors / you dream in eastern time / wait for the hijaz
to collect / the bags under your eyes / for her to warm your pulse / with
her hands / her cratered lap / friends described her as a “gentle soul” who
had been “destroyed” / by her time in detention / you note the
alliterative phrasing / a velvet undoing / there are as many ways to be
destroyed / as there are droplets on the tongue / to describe it / Hodan
rolls in your mouth / draws salt from saliva / you think of the white of
nerve endings / the melting of dermis / grass hissing underfoot / all that
separates her / from / you / me / is a slip of a generation / a fistful of
decades / in another life / the war that broke you / breaks ten years
ahead / and you are the one drowning / you are forgotten / in this life /
you rest on the pillow of abstraction / on your passport / the freedom
papers of this age / your proximity to the bodies that terrorise hers / the
rolled dice of your life / it is what it is / every poem that falls /
chandeliered / is about this distance / its heavy head on your lap / its hot
laugh on your neck / its doll-like teeth marks / you have never known a
violence
/ worse / than / coincidence /
© 2017, Momtaza Mehri
This poem won Third Prize in The Poetry Society\'s 2017 National Poetry Competition.
Momtaza Mehri
(United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 1994)
It is tempting to say that Momtaza Mehri’s poems mix personal experiences with world events, but of course the point is that world events are personal experiences – they happen to people. Mehri is a poet, essayist and editor, and the current Young People’s Laureate for London. Her work is broad and complex, informed by a rich range of cultures, literatures and interests. She is a fellow of The ...
Poems
Poems of Momtaza Mehri
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Oiled Legs Have Their Own Subtext
doctor says there is something wrong with your thyroid / you are knownto leak everywhere / to take the shape of whatever / wherever you are
poured into / you do not contest his claim / or any other man with his
hands around your throat / before the appointment / you slice a heart /
swallow breath mints to disguise / the miasma of desperation / slide a
ring onto each finger / bejewel a somatic distraction / let the Gulf of
Aden run ragged / from the twinned lakes / of shoulder blades / an
inherited wetness behind the ears / you kiss / the mirror’s cold navel /
with the kind of pride that comes naturally / to those born carrying
history as an extra limb / to the sticky yolk of grief / you do not think
you are a Good Person™ / not with the way you cough up contradiction
/ phlegm thick as Aramco / poverty’s slick jaw / or how you gloss your
mouth with a humanitarian shade of pink / dress each lie in crushed
pearls / but because you remember the names of your brothers / never
your sisters / your sister’s sisters / your sisters who are an occurrence /
never an event / never a shudder when they stop occurring / there is
nothing to mark their arrival / or leaving / Hodan aged 21 / and six
months / who doused herself in liquid surrender / set herself alight / her
second attempt at peace / in the bulletin thumbnail she wears royal blue
/ looks like a woman you would powder / your nose next to / at a
wedding / wrist against cheek / soft wick of her rimmed eyes / banjee
queen / doe-eyed diva / dhow-hearted / what did they do to you / onto
you / at Nauru Regional Processing Centre / what did this processing
look like / OPC1 / where detainees sew their lips together / silence
themselves before they are silenced / where women hoard cloths to plug
their bleeding / hide from both inmates and guards / carry the children
of men who did not ask / infants who did not ask / an island of orphans
/ of what could have been you / but is not you / will never be you / from
across the ambit / oh for fate’s insurgencies / its sweet edge / the
topologies of our lives / their sharpened sighs / soft implosions of flip-
flops/ on airport floors / you dream in eastern time / wait for the hijaz
to collect / the bags under your eyes / for her to warm your pulse / with
her hands / her cratered lap / friends described her as a “gentle soul” who
had been “destroyed” / by her time in detention / you note the
alliterative phrasing / a velvet undoing / there are as many ways to be
destroyed / as there are droplets on the tongue / to describe it / Hodan
rolls in your mouth / draws salt from saliva / you think of the white of
nerve endings / the melting of dermis / grass hissing underfoot / all that
separates her / from / you / me / is a slip of a generation / a fistful of
decades / in another life / the war that broke you / breaks ten years
ahead / and you are the one drowning / you are forgotten / in this life /
you rest on the pillow of abstraction / on your passport / the freedom
papers of this age / your proximity to the bodies that terrorise hers / the
rolled dice of your life / it is what it is / every poem that falls /
chandeliered / is about this distance / its heavy head on your lap / its hot
laugh on your neck / its doll-like teeth marks / you have never known a
violence
/ worse / than / coincidence /
Oiled Legs Have Their Own Subtext
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