Ahlaam Moledina
after Mahmoud Darwish
In her absence I created
her image; glittering
unearthly
as things not of this body do.
There is no measure for
this rendition of a home
unseen, on land long
missed; what is it to
reimagine what
must first be thought
up, conjured like a
trick, dismantled
like one too? All I know
of her is the gleam,
holding light like
leaves, walls fraying in
eternal autumn. Rusting;
hayawanat run their laps
and bury their claws
on images also. But
absence is the guide.
If roofs
were a ready thing
I would not be so
steadfast with the
brick
of all this mythical
memory-
not so devoted
to trapping the cement
of sunlight
between my
gaze backward and sight ahead.
I have no choice but
to follow through
the winding vapour
streets of dusk and dust
(absence tells me here
it is blood-coloured)
and search for fruit
tasted only in memory-mouths.
Then like a robber I am led
through cracked panes,
perhaps
asked to fix them, perhaps
invited to watch the method of
the breaking,
how each jagged slice forms a
knife, or maybe a
mirror. Each points northeast
in my image and
the glass is tinged zahri,
and like the memories,
light trickles in with
new breath of this uncity,
decaying and bright
in absence.
Ahlaam Moledina is a third-year studying Radio/TV/Film and Creative Writing. She’s from Birmingham in the UK, and she is equal parts embarrassed and proud of her tattoo of Birmingham’s area code.
