I WOULD'VE GIVEN YOU MY LIFE BEFORE YOU TOOK IT

By Ayesha Ali

I am burning

she said

we said, they all said

burning from the inside out

and there is nothing you can do.

For you were the one

who blessed the gasoline

with that stinging, stolen canto.

You were the one who

struck a match in my face, held it

to the ends of my hair, drenched in petrol 

and said

keep me warm at night

not with your warm light

nor your sweet sighs

I am not here for that

I am here to watch you die.

I am drowning

she said

we said, they all said

drowning from the outside in.

Things of the earth and creatures of rot

eat at my face as you push and shove

my broken

beaten

beseeching body

into human waste and refuse,

refusing to admit I am still alive 

all dignity of mine did you deprive.

O how your unmaking defiled me

O how they turned death to legacy

though there was nothing left

once you were done with me.

This cold-blooded slaughter 

spilled blood thicker than water

it killed a daughter she’ll never have

and a mother they all called mad.

Madonna, Mary, Magdalene—

pure

virgin

saintly.

They taught us to be good

and where has it gotten us?

In the ground

in the ground, my love.

And I hate how your creaking bones 

still wander the earth

looking for mine, looking for home.

But home is not home 

without you in it.

So won't you come back home?

Won’t you leave my bones? Even if you

become my ghost in that house we chose

for our palace, our prison, our hungry abode.

Incarcerated flesh behind crumbling bricks

I still see that door we fixed with breaking sticks

does the rusting handle still have that dent in it?

does he know you know what happened here?

HE KNOWS, HE KNOWS, HE KNOWS

scream all the other ghosts.

We hear TV static in place of conversation

there’s blood on the mattress instead of carnations

poison in the wine each time you dine

spit flying from his lips, fighting death’s kiss.

But we do not see what happens next

we will not watch you die 

we are not here for that

we do not wish to hear you cry.

O my love, how swift yet slow you were to fall

I am sick of bearing witness, but aren’t we all?

Aren’t we all, my love?

Aren’t we all?