| FROM THE MUSE | BY MARWA SAYED | MAY, 2013 |
My limbs drag
Along the surface
Of this world.
Thighs sheathed in gravity,
Arms lolling with a dogged purpose.
Something has drugged me
And my mind is halting
And I am falling, wilting.
I ground myself.
The sky looks different from here
On my back.
I fear I shall seep
Slowly, inexorably, inevitably
Into the ground
‘Til I am a pile of aconite and asphodel.
Fight on, good soldier, they say.
But I do not need a pillow down here.
The earth is welcoming and whispering
And I am swaddled like a child
Who is too tired to sleep.
Come back, they say.
But I have my ear pressed to the ground
In hopes of hearing my next chance
To melt away.
The earth, it is quiet in here
And I can hear the footsteps above.
Straighten your back and sit up straight,
You were not raised this way.
But I am magnetized now and
Drawn away. ‘Til the water comes
And I wash away, sand on the current.