The Seamstress | DESCENT Issue #4

SEMESTER WRITING CONTEST WINNER, POETRY CATEGORY

Yusuf Rahman

Home one is fuzzy.

In my head it’s blue, small and humid.

The silverfish shimmered in the fluorescent lights,

And I crawled around the carpet when she watched weight-loss programs on TV.

We were real American, weren’t we?

Home two is taller.

This one had stairs and a cat I loved.

The ants celebrated, trash forgotten to be taken out,

And I stood on my two feet now, rushing to get her water when her mind twirled.

We were the weird neighbors, weren’t we?

Home three is dim.

We lived in the monsoon-stricken desert.

The roaches took center stage, invisible filth clung to us,

And I begged on the phone for my father to save me when I was alone.

We were always miles apart.

Home four is artificial.

We moved to the pretty foothills.

The pest control came when we had no food in the fridge,

And I drove around in a car older than me, a hint of teenage freedom.

We were settled in routine.

But Home five is the one that haunts me today.

It’s home by necessity, home that’s legally gray.

The bugs don’t bother because there’s no hot water, and

I’m a little older each time I come around and see her

Sitting at the table, delirium glazing her eyes,

Coating her hair in a gray that mumbles her mortality.

Mom can’t be the superhero anymore.

We lost. We didn’t protect our home(s).

So, at night she sleeps next to the dresses

And by day she sells them,

Seams rips them, cuts them, discounts them,

Whatever can keep her fabric woven together.