Yesterday, in my African Literature class, we were discussing this book called Maps by Nurrudin Farah (which, by the way, is a really great novel so far...the author plays around with 1st 2nd and 3rd perspectives and incorporates dreams into certain chapters. The protagonist is totally creepy, and the whole novel is very disorientating...havent finished it yet, but so far highly recommended). Well, two major symbols in the novel are blood and water, so we were talking about the disturbing aspects of the novel and I for some reason I just got in such an uncomfortable mood. So I wrote this poem, which was a pleasant surprise because I haven't written any poetry in quite some time. Let me know what you think of it:
He moves his hands when he speaks
flicking his wrists
look at his rotating shoulder sockets
elbows bending; retracting
adverted eyes
.....wait
his hands!
on his right hand
his ring finger is shorter than his pinkie
he bends it in so no one notices
but I see it
and I can't
stop
staring
at it
His lips are moving; smacking together and apart
There is spit on his tongue...
His eyes clasp together
How smooth the inside of his eyelid must be
But I can't hear him anymore
Just his lips, the quick blinking of his eyes
all I hear is murmuring
and the whistling of a fractured air vent
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