"Peace Amongst Concrete": Poems by Areesha Jacob

~Sounds~

Dear Ma,

We’ve Done This Before

I once heard a story

of a mother who hid her newborn

even before he took his first steps.

                                                             

She had heard about how

the people feared her baby, 

as though he was a girl. 

It pained her, ma 

as she grew thread instead of hair                                                                                                               

to tie her agony 

with the colour of her skin

so she could hide behind it                                                                                                                       

and not watch blood pour out of her blood.

This mother wrapped her son

and set him afloat on the Nile                                                                                                                          

where the color of the water was  

darker than the color of the mother’s fear.                                                            

Nile now wore a crown as she bore him to  

her who was royal, but not a mother.

This princess didn’t search but she found, 

her, who had borne this child.                                                                                                      

She gave her the crown of raising him,

but this time, in a palace.

                                                                        

That was us, Ma.

In another lifetime, 

but that was us.

Even the Sky: You’re Everywhere

At four, 

I remember seeing her for the first time 

in her vastness, a pale shade of blue.

Did anyone tell her how lovely she looked?

          

From that day on, I wondered 

if she wanted to turn, 

into neon green for the day, and yellow at night. 

Did anyone teach her how?

 

What if all she knew about love, 

was through the darlings she birthed – 

the sun, the moon,

the stars?

She only wore the colours

they gave her, 

not a ruffle extra

on her sleeve.

She held them tightly under her wings,                                                                                                  

just so they could shine.

And when she cried,

she bathed the earth with her tears.

Ma, how can you be here and there?

 

In the Past We Were Our Parents

I stumbled upon a photo,

a photo from your past,

a photo of my future.

A glimpse of who I was,

before I was me.

A likeness                    

that spoke so loudly, 

of the realization that  

a piece of your heartbeat fell off

to give me a heart.

I almost didn’t recognize you,

with your raven hair,                                                                                                                                  

whispering 

in harmony

with your magenta pleats.

It’s no wonder that my tears

speak my mother’s language

and my skin folds

to look like your sarees.

But Ma, who were you, before you were me?

 

Why We Love Ourselves

I’ve climbed inside clocks to find a number,

and yet I’ve lost count of the times,                                                                                                 

I needed you to tell me 

all would be okay one day, my little one.

You see, a time had blossomed, a time in my life, 

when I had to protect you

in your innocence

and pretend that you were the child.

I no longer had bruises

that you could kiss and heal.

I had heartbreak after heartbreak

that my nerves only just kept stitched together.

Why didn’t you to tell me, Ma,

that old men had the power,

the power to squeeze womanhood

out of little girls?

Why didn’t you tell me, Ma,

that they were only favoured,

when their lips gave them pleasure,

not when they mouthed the word, “no”?

Tell me Ma, why wouldn’t a flower,

who was the only one taught to keep her eyes open,

not fear that when she gets stepped on,

she would be the only one to be blamed?

You see, for all the times

I couldn’t see you cry,

because of all the pain that I had felt,

I mothered myself.

For all the times        

I couldn’t walk to you with a broken heart

that you had given me in one piece,

I mothered myself. 

And maybe this is why,

the baby that the mother rescued,

could one day rule her own kingdom,                                          

to rescue the mother                                                                                                                                     

and lead her towards the promised land.

 

Areesha Jacob is a 4th-year student of Creative Writing and Publishing at Sheridan College. In addition to the poems, the photographs are also by her.