2018 / poetry / author
HINNAH MIAN
LEARNING TO LOVE BOMB-THREAT BODIES
…
I
Brown bodies often get confused
with mines nowadays, and
when you told me you were
scared you’d get caught in
the explosion, I didn’t
blame you.
This heart resembles
a grenade and when it
bounced off the
walls in my chest
when we moved like
heat waves on the
bed, I think we both
feared for our lives.
II
I always felt dangerous
in my skin and when you
told me you found the color
of it to look more like cinnamon
than mud, you decided that
our shades of dangerous would
look even more beautiful
together.
We both taped our
gun-powdered torsos
shut with each other’s
skin so that if we were
to go out in flames—
at least we’d destruct
together.
III
I’ve learned that
my body is a prayer
and not an explosion.
IV
You treated it
like a bomb threat—
handled it tentatively,
tip-toed around me
as if you wanted
to set me off
because you
mistakenly thought
that self-destruction
is a hue of
beautiful
rather than
a hue of
tragedy.
V
You should’ve
held my name
in your mouth
like a prayer.
Not a bomb threat.
You should’ve
treated my body
as if you were
tasting a slice
of divinity,
not treading
across a minefield.
VI
This brown body is
not an explosion;
it is light and honey—
all things heaven
wants to
die into.
WELCOME TO MY BODY: A WAR MEMORIAL.
…
underneath this skin
i have fought the battles of
me, my parents, grandparents,
a country that i have only
lived in in memories.
here, under the flesh
of my heart a man’s
corpse has settled,
decaying until it is
one with my body’s system.
i am still learning how
to give a killer
a proper burial.
here, on my tongue,
i have tasted all
walks of life but i have
still not learned how to properly
introduce myself.
i am still learning
how to decorate a
graveyard, to make it
welcoming.
read the scars on
my body like braille,
for i no longer know how
to tell a story that belongs
so deeply to myself but is
no longer just mine.