- POETRY -

THREE POEMS

 

Scherezade Siobhan

ISSUE TEN | SPRING 2018

Mira as Garganta Rroma – II

 

The English thesaurus still enlists the term “to gyp” as an acceptable synonym for “to cheat”. To gyp is a derogatory term for Rroma/Romani peoples who are often slurred as “gypsies” and portrayed as tricksters or common thieves to date.


 

Our bodies are still averaged     / to gyp /          as in this brassy

malingerer                – as in shank out my own spine to bounty

 

your pilgrim’s haunting.         Father of stubborn oak & hobo

spiders.   His bulerías choiring their own doxology       All that

 

hunger sniffing dank     the stray steel vessel of  Romanipen        

Tally us in your   most turbulent animals –     Awaken the iron!

 

Pray the baleen kisses back      the shipwreck of your veloured

blue-solace.     Number us amongst your sunken mercenaries

 

your paltry waters     reminiscing our last superstitions in the error

of each syrinx.   I am a woman only between the teeth      of those

 

who have eaten   the rest of this story       Have forgotten the harvest

moon & its ram     her cloven headlock             her lustrous passing

 

Bear with me          my tangled Seraphic   my abyss-throated aubade

My Dire won’t acquiesce            to your masterly sizing. Beware of

     

not what the Gypsy curses           to sleep into your dark ground   

     but what    She can          cure back from its quiet dirt

Hope: A Self-Help Manual (GodBot)

 

(This is a found poem cobbled from posts by a Markov text chain generator program for a poetry bot on tumblr. In a way, this is “botting” the bot because the original bot uses an underlying code to put together prose poems from spotlighted tumblr blogs)


 

walk into a knot of shrunken features    Your person spewed

through phone earpieces     we could shudder with the data 

I’m like everybody else   desi coiling      nested personae   endless

Gods   the aviaries of my stomach      glowed on his desktop

withdrew rags coated in a watermelon nighttime   my Thing I love

with each    insufferable    elsewhere late into the snow   the leaf

already aware      of a whim a waiting room   glühwein a ball of

dryer lint    glacier fire   hell has always been self-conscious about

the precise thin    white scars that chisel away   at a day’s blue statue

you couldn’t bear    the clouds in school      or moons between our     

emergency kits     He had the softest rabbits   for a smile & I cocooned

in “protocols”     the bloody covering of the week-end     having reached

my black  embroidered housedress   while I flake off like a cold     war

correspondent    exhuming ghosts  runnels rapt into ice   terrified of myself

Siyah of a New Moon

 

The day I leave the boarding school, a nilgiri tree faints & in farsi,

N sings hamsar-am—this too is a way to monument what eludes

us in the temperament of hereafters. Any scalp’s window splitting

its own veins to coddle light, fulgor-boned ghosts, a new voice &

its brittle, copal-splendored bulb. Wrecked crate, the trave parted

from its horse. What is emptiness worth if not surrounded by some

-thing always threatening to cut open its eclipse? Return, minatory.

Take everything as is the habit of your name. As is this sugared lump

of a moon burning in the spiritblack of ivy ponds. A nose hunting grass

for a graze of pelt, a lick of claw. In the body’s hot dirt, heart’s doubled

Catatonic—a dumped piñata, its dumbfounded splattering, attar of blood,

a true roja. A scarlet ibis in its black-beaked prayers to slippery fish. What is

upheld in the absence of body is space where it could have slept without

interruptions of ordered meanings. What kind of longing isn’t incantation,

martyred? Jezebel & the curs. All of us consenting to a quiet ceraunomacy. A fire-bellied fist. A baccara rose. Our darkest ash. Our most amavasya.

Scherezade Siobhan is an Indo-Rroma psychologist, writer, & mental health focused artivist. She is the author of Bone Tongue (Thought Catalog Books, 2016), Father, Husband (Salopress, 2017) & The Blues Kali (Lithic Press, Forthcoming) & can be found squeeing about militant bunnies @zahararaesque on twitter/FB/IG or www.zaharaesque.com.

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