by Rupi Kaur
does not rest between pages
written by holy men
my god
lives between the sweaty thighs
of women’s bodies sold for money
was last seen washing the homeless man’s feet
my god
is not as unreachable as
they’d like you to think
my god is beating inside us infinitely
advice i would’ve given
my mother on her wedding day
you are allowed to say no
years ago his father beat the language of love
out of your husband’s back
he will never know how to say it
but his actions prove he loves you
go with him
when he enters your body and goes to that place
sex is not dirty
no matter how many times his family brings it up
do not have the abortion just because i’m a girl
lock the relatives out and swallow the key
he will not hate you
take your journals and paintings
across the ocean when you leave
these will remind you who you are
when you get lost amid new cities
they will also remind your children
you had an entire life before them
when your husbands are off
working at the factories
make friends with all the other
lonely women in the apartment complex
this loneliness will cut a person in half
you will need each other to stay alive
your husband and children will take from your plate
we will emotionally and mentally starve you
all of it is wrong
don’t let us convince you that
sacrificing yourself is
how you must show love
when your mother dies
fly back for the funeral
money comes and goes
a mother is once in a lifetime
you are allowed to spend
a couple dollars on a coffee
i know there was a time when
we could not afford it
but we are okay now. breathe.
you can’t speak english fluently
or operate a computer or cell phone
we did that to you. it is not your fault.
you are not any less than the
other mothers with their
flashy phones and designer clothing
we confined you to the four walls of this home
and worked you to the bone
you have not been your own property for decades
there was no rule book for how
to be the first woman in your lineage
to raise a family on a strange land by yourself
you are the person i look up to most
when i am about to shatter
i think of your strength
and harden
i think you are a magician
i want to fill the rest of your life with ease
you are the hero of heroes
the god of gods
in a dream
i saw my mother
with the love of her life
and no children
it was the happiest i’d ever seen her
- what if
you split the world
into pieces and
called them countries
declared ownership on
what never belonged to you
and left the rest with nothing
- colonize
my parents never sat us down in the evenings to share stories of their younger days. one was always working. the other too tired. perhaps being an immigrant does that to you.
the cold terrain of the north engulfed them. their bodies were hard at work paying in blood and sweat for their citizenship. perhaps the weight of the new world was too much. and the pain and sorrow of the old was better left buried.
i do wish i had unburied it though. i wish i’d pried their silence apart like a closed envelope. i wish i’d found a small opening at its very edge. pushed a finger inside and gently torn it open. they had an entire life before me which i am a stranger to. it would be my greatest regret to see them leave this place before i even got to know them.
my voice
is the offspring
of two countries colliding
what is there to be ashamed of
if english
and my mother tongue
made love
my voice
is her father’s words
and mother’s accent
what does it matter if
my mouth carries two worlds
- accent
for years they were separated by oceans
left with nothing but little photographs of each other
smaller than passport-size photos
hers was tucked into a golden locket
his slipped inside his wallet
at the end of the day
when their worlds went quiet
studying them was their only intimacy
this was a time long before computers
when families in that part of the world
had not seen a telephone or laid their
almond eyes on a colored television screen
long before you and i
as the wheels of the plane touched tarmac
she wondered if this was the place
had she boarded the right flight
should’ve asked the air hostess twice
like her husband suggested
walking into baggage claim
her heart beat so heavy
she thought it might fall out
eyes darting in every direction
searching for what to do next when
suddenly
right there
in the flesh
he stood
not a mirage—a man
first came relief
then bewilderment
they’d imagined this reunion for years
had rehearsed their lines
but her mouth seemed to forget
she felt a kick in her stomach
when she saw the shadows circling his eyes
and shoulders carrying an invisible weight
it looked like the life had been drained out of him
where was the person she had wed
she wondered
reaching for the golden locket
the one with the photo of the man
her husband did not look like anymore
- the new world had drained him
what if
there isn’t enough time
to give her what she deserves
do you think
if i begged the sky hard enough
my mother’s soul would
return to me as my daughter
so i can give her
the comfort she gave me
my whole life
i want to go back in time and sit beside her. document her in a home movie so my eyes can spend the rest of their lives witnessing a miracle. the one whose life i never think of before mine. i want to know what she laughed about with friends. in the village within houses of mud and brick. surrounded by acres of mustard plant and sugarcane. i want to sit with the teenage version of my mother. ask about her dreams. become her pleated braid. the black kohl caressing her eyelids. the flour neatly packed into her fingertips. a page in her schoolbooks. even to be a single thread of her cotton dress would be the greatest gift.
-
to witness a miracle
1790
he takes the newborn girl from his wife
carries her to the neighboring room
cradles her head with his left hand
and gently snaps her neck with his right
1890
a wet towel to wrap her in
grains of rice and
sand in the nose
a mother shares the trick with her daughter-in-law
i had to do it she says
as did my mother
and her mother before her
1990
a newspaper article reads
a hundred baby girls were found buried
behind a doctor’s house in a neighboring village
the wife wonders if that’s where he took her
she imagines her daughter becoming the soil
fertilizing the roots that feed this country
1998
oceans away in a toronto basement
a doctor performs an illegal abortion
on an indian woman who already has a daughter
one is burden enough she says
2006
it’s easier than you think my aunties tell my mother
they know a family
who’ve done it three times
they know a clinic. they could get mumma the number.
the doctor even prescribes pills that guarantee a boy.
they worked for the woman down the street they say
now she has three sons
2012
twelve hospitals in the toronto area
refuse to reveal a baby’s gender to expecting families
until the thirtieth week of pregnancy
all twelve hospitals are located in areas with high south asian immigrant populations
- female infanticide | female feticide
remember the body
of your community
breathe in the people
who sewed you whole
it is you who became yourself
but those before you
are a part of your fabric
- honor the roots
when they buried me alive
i dug my way
out of the ground
with palm and fist
i howled so loud
the earth rose in fear and
the dirt began to levitate
my whole life has been an uprising
one burial after another
- i will find my way out of you just fine
my mother sacrificed her dreams
so i could dream
broken english
i think about the way my father
pulled the family out of poverty
without knowing what a vowel was
and my mother raised four children
without being able to construct
a perfect sentence in english
a discombobulated couple
who landed in the new world with hopes
that left the bitter taste of rejection in their mouths
no family
no friends
just man and wife
two university degrees that meant nothing
one mother tongue that was broken now
one swollen belly with a baby inside
a father worrying about jobs and rent
cause no matter what this baby was coming
and they thought to themselves for a split second
was it worth it to put all of our money
into the dream of a country
that is swallowing us whole
papa looks at his woman’s eyes
and sees loneliness living where the iris was
wants to give her a home in a country that looks at her
with the word visitor wrapped around its tongue
on their wedding day
she left an entire village to be his wife
now she left an entire country to be a warrior
and when the winter came
they had nothing but the heat of their own bodies
to keep the coldness out
like two brackets they faced one another
to hold the dearest parts of them—their children—close
they turned a suitcase full of clothes into a life
and regular paychecks
to make sure the children of immigrants
wouldn’t hate them for being the children of immigrants
they worked too hard
you can tell by their hands
their eyes are begging for sleep
but our mouths were begging to be fed
and that is the most artistic thing i have ever seen
it is poetry to these ears
that have never heard what passion sounds like
and my mouth is full of likes and ums when
i look at their masterpiece
cause there are no words in the english language
that can articulate that kind of beauty
i can’t compact their existence into twenty-six letters and call it a description
i tried once
but the adjectives needed to describe them
don’t even exist
so instead i ended up with pages and pages
full of words followed by commas and
more words and more commas
only to realize there are some things
in the world so infinite
they could never use a full stop
so how dare you mock your mother
when she opens her mouth and
broken english spills out
don’t be ashamed of the fact that
she split through countries to be here
so you wouldn’t have to cross a shoreline
her accent is thick like honey
hold it with your life
it’s the only thing she has left of home
don’t you stomp on that richness
instead hang it up on the walls of museums
next to dali and van gogh
her life is brilliant and tragic
kiss the side of her tender cheek
she already knows what it feels like
to have an entire nation laugh when she speaks
she is more than our punctuation and language
we might be able to paint pictures and write stories
but she made an entire world for herself
how is that for art
on the first day of love
you wrapped me in the word special
you must remember it too
how the rest of the city slept
while we sat awakened for the first time
we hadn’t touched yet
but we managed to travel in and out
of each other with our words
our limbs dizzying with enough electricity
to form half a sun
we drank nothing that night
but i was intoxicated
i went home and thought
are we soul mates
i feel apprehensive
cause falling into you
means falling out of him and
i had not prepared for that
- forward
how do i welcome in kindness
when i have only practiced
spreading my legs for the terrifying
what am i to do with you
if my idea of love is violence
but you are sweet
if your concept of passion is eye contact
but mine is rage
how can i call this intimacy
if i crave sharp edges
but your edges aren’t even edges
they are soft landings
how do i teach myself
to accept a healthy love
if all i’ve ever known is pain
i will welcome
a partner
who is my equal
never feel guilty for starting again
the middle place is strange
the part between them and the next
is an awakening from how you saw to
how you will see
this is where their charm wears off
where they are no longer
the god you made them out to be
when the pedestal you carved out of your
bone and teeth no longer serves them
they are unmasked and made mortal again
- the middle place
when you start loving someone new
you laugh at the indecisiveness of love
remember when you were sure
the last one was the one
and now here you are
redefining the one all over again
- a fresh love is a gift
i do not need the kind of love
that is draining
i want someone
who energizes me
i am trying to not
make you pay for their mistakes
i am trying to teach myself
you are not responsible
for the wound
how can i punish you
for what you have not done
you wear my emotions
like a decorated army vest
you are not cold or
savage or hungry
you are medicinal
you are not them
he makes sure to look right at me
as he places his electric fingers on my skin
how does that feel he asks
commanding my attention
responding is out of the question
i quiver with anticipation