On the morning my womb sheds,
I am told by the earth to rest-
to remain enclosed in the circle of pulsating inactivity,
like a fetus.
The yoni awareness mentor describes,
the turmoil of the inner winter-
the way the body uses and expels its nitrogen, phosphorus, potassium,
like a flower.
Louder than the universal dripping mutation,
the beckoning alarm, the means of production-
tend to the product of your ill-chosen craft regularly, reliably
like a factory.
Your glory is not fading!
It is packaged in colors of the West-swaying flag-
forage, unpack, and revel in the sweet nectar commodity,
like a fruit.
In the evening after toiling
dazed and bloodless on a concrete plank-
hoping for snow, strong wind in the night to defer time away
like a fugitive.
On the morning the men are toppled,
inner spring, exterior demolition and prosperity-
I sweat in the forest on a ladder dropping pine cones with a stick
like freedom.
Nadine Makarem resorts to writing for exploration, defiance, and catharsis. Her career has mostly centered on development work with different international and local organizations, as well as a stint in journalism. She co-established the Poetics Collective, “Shatr شطر”, with two friends in Beirut and currently works on her own freelance writing projects as the only tools available for transformation and grounding amid a broader reality of injustice, turmoil, and hegemony.
