}} That I Say Nationalism Is a Tote Bag and I Carry It with Me Is Neither a Hyperbole |

Poetry at Sangam

SangamHouse

 










That I Say Nationalism Is a Tote Bag and I Carry It with Me Is Neither a Hyperbole

nor a trend. Not that my scaphoid
will fracture or my fame will be down
in the drainage otherwise, but receipts
are calm territories. No refund guarantee.
Sometimes I find myself huddling
in the tote, as if to make space
for someone’s expectation. Say hello
to stripes, modern chic and gothic cool.
She morphs. Her strap, capable
of strangers, is a source of friction.
Wear her cross-bodily in evening
scenarios that require two free hands:
dolphin planks at the gym, then entering
men, then into a realm in which doubts bloom
fast at last. Doubt because she sees
herself as high fashion. Because her ego
starts making holes to lose my keys
every time I join a march. At home,
we do not see each other much.
Reaching a certain age, she is gridlocked
between finding solutions and convincing
herself of the problem. The sight
of her repulses me. She wonders
why my heart has turned blade-sharp.
I wish to tell her street fashion feels
the grassroots, and my blade is good
at C-sectioning the paradox that we live
together, but we live far apart. Sleep
as the best way to not think of divided
spaces. There are nights I hear beads
falling between the walls. It is the dead
left wing, some say, flicking out marbles
in the safest distance. Then they stitch
what they knock out in our sleep.

 
The poem first appeared in Gulf Coast.