Advice to a Diminishing Girl

Diminishing girl,
do not seek confirmation:
in crescent brows, rogue lips, cursory eyes.
Do not despise your
own (un) cluttered self.

There is more to it than the melonic rind,
the upturned chest, you will never have rest
from the demands of insatiable cruelty of society.
Superficiality is a tangential
point so do not anoint yourself to the ephemeral.

Otherwise, you will be hounded
by the masculinity of others
chasing their longings
in the greed of hurting
you.
 
Accept your unremarkable rarity.
Square construction, pale commonality,
the thin lips, they are for dips
in the sublime.
Not in the mating of a kiss.

Shun the teeming masses: refuse to diffuse
your tempest. Digress from the knife
of their conformity: become an errant purity
in the brine.
Then you will be novel.
 
Dare to prevail over
abysmal illusions. Put aside:
the siphon dresses, caustic heels, scented
elegances, these are all penetrable defenses
that will collapse
 
with the imperviousness of time.
For summer has all too short
a lease. So release yourself from
the eyes of being seen
go benign into the night

if that is what you like; do not care what they dislike:
the conciseness of you.
Their arrows
will leave not a rack
behind
 
In this inevitable deadline, do not devote yourself
to the whim of a caress,
redress all anxieties:
jettison the male sphere,
then domineer!
  

Rainstorms That Closed My Eyes

I guess it should come as no surprise
I failed to content the lotus
The sun failed to rise
And I did not notice

I failed to content the lotus
I then forgot to open the door
And I did not notice
The lies upon the floor

I forgot to open the door
As the strangers came and went
The lies upon the floor
I forgot how they were spent

As the strangers came and went
I heard an unloved cry
I forgot how they were spent
The rainstorms that closed my eyes

I heard an unloved cry
While all the years I had not been aware
The rainstorms that closed my eyes
It was more than I could bare

All the years I had not been aware
Someone walked behind me
It was more than I could bare
That he crossed in front of me



An Unforeseen Meeting

You do not know me - yet.
You are not expecting me.
You have never seen me.
You have never heard me.
You have never met me - yet.

I, on the contrary know you very well.
I have known you since your debut.
I have watched you over the minutes, hours, days, years, decades.

I was there when your father never made it home.
I was there when you buried your teddy in the dirt.
I was there when you were Juliet in high school.
I was there when you married Jack.
I was there when you published your first novel.
I was there when the doctors found the first tumor.
I was there when Jack divorced you.
I was there when you tried chemo, herbs, yoga, acupuncture, seeds, detox.
I was there when you never gave up.

I have known you these 27 years.

You do not know me - yet.
You are not expecting me.
You may have thought about me.
You may even have thought to escape me.

I never let anyone escape me.
I always keep my appointments.
I am impervious to time, hope, threats, prayers and all else.

You do not know me - yet.
You are not expecting me.
You will know me very soon.

I can tell you about the men and women I have known.

I was the friend who applauded Beethoven.
I was the long one for Clemenceau.
I was the one who could not see Noel Coward tomorrow.
I was the one least afraid of Darwin.
I was not the one to help Joan Crawford.
I was the only one to understand James Joyce.
I was the one who separated Charlotte Bronte.
I was the conventional thing to happen to Barrymore.
I was the one to whisper goodnight to Lord Byron.
I was the one to make powerless the arms of Queen Louise.
I could not wait for Ethan Allen.
I could not turn up the lights for O. Henry.
I could not go away for H.G. Wells.
I did not think King Louis immortal.
I was in the Audubon Ballroom with Malcolm X.
I was the in lysol of Vachel Lindsay.
I was in the bullet of John F. Kennedy.

You do not know me - yet.
You are not expecting me.

I know that you are in the middle of another novel.
I know that you have not relinquished hope.
I know that you hate me because of it.
I know that you believe this detox program is the one.
I know that you believe you are too young.

I know what the doctors have said.
I know they told you one year.

I know better.

You will be meeting me in seven minutes.


© Maryam Chahine

Bio: "I'm an American Muslim woman living in the Pacific Northwest. I've
loved poetry ever since I first got my hands on the books of Mother
Goose and Shel Silverstein - poetry is a part of who I am. I'm
currently a student working on a major that keeps changing every year
and a minor in Arabic and writing. My work has been featured in Poetry
Revolt and will soon appear in ken*again [stet]."