Two Poems

Rockets

Somewhere there’s a mother who
Wants to crack little baby’s head 
Open, just a bit, to peer in.
What are they thinking? Is it 
About me? When your legs get strong,
Will you leave and forget? 
Like a little rocket, littering space,
Leaving parts behind, 
Only the head remains.
So reckless, but you know better.
That’s why my nails slot neatly here,
Perfect little cribs, would you just look at me?
But I’m the little rocket head,
Don’t let go, even if you have to straggle around,
Even if you can never get your feet off the ground.

Shame!

Blisters, you’ve got a bubble, 
How did it get there? 
The blister splinter man
And his prickly stare.
I’ve thought carefully about this, 
But I can’t recall the moment at all. 
Tree trunk limbs and splintery hands.
One moment it’s this way, then it’s that,
A bubble and I’m sleepy like pulled taffy.

My mother thinks its best to pop it open,
Grabbing her pink sewing kit, lemon-scented.
Listen now, someday you need to do this,
Pay attention. How did it get there?
I don’t want her to touch it,
She hates looking at it. Shame.

I want to laugh as it wriggles away,
Sloshing, the bubble from the needle tip.
It’s funny until–Mummy just leave it there!
My hip is full of tiny holes now,
I’m like a little sponge. 
She still won’t look at me, there’s no room.

Lights out, she sneaks up on it with her fingernails,
Pop! Red is the strangest ache,
Like the handle of the mop dizzying past. 
My mother’s hair is red as she cleans the spill.
I pick out splinters from the sofa, kitchen, shower curtain.
Nothing shocks me yet, but I’ve got time to spare.
Sometimes I grow up and still feel the bubble there.

Amal Al Shamsi is a writer who grew up in Dubai. Her poetry, fiction, and academic criticism focus on creatively reimagining regional heritage and women’s experiences. Having graduated from NYU Abu Dhabi, she is now pursuing a master's degree in Literature at the University of Edinburgh. She can’t pick a favorite work, maybe because she has a feeling that the best ones are yet to come–from her creative contemporaries.

Artwork by Myriam Louise Taleb