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Maha

warmth

skin against scratchy towel.

raw, salty, sandy.

i imagine every particle in

my body turning off

one by one; their light

slowing down to stillness.

i direct the sun

from my toes to the baby hairs on

my head. ||: the breaths i take

are deep and long, i count

from one to ten :||


the good news is

the sun shines harder here.


home is in our hands

clasping together as i carry

the groceries that

didn't fit in the trolley, you

pulling it along behind us.

i ache to practice rest

as resistance;

i am learning to

be here to do so with you.


home is when we are warm.

i am trying to unravel belonging

from place: 'safety' in closed borders

creates others to fear.


i have never felt so loved

until i was told:

we are all we have.

i picture myself on that scratchy

towel,

my ass on a dark teal couch

on a snowy morning,

breathing into

the bottom of my belly.


This poem is a response to the prompt "warmth" from the week of December 6, 2020.

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