my last love was a map
his skin wide open
while his smile dug into me
I think I punctured my skin for him
I think I folded him into whole
I think I was the name of every city
in there
until he pronounced them in ways
that broke me:
he called Palestine without the second e
called Syria like his tongue was
a shooting range
and these names began to flow somewhere else
weightless than ever before.
About the Creator
Anifowoshe Ibrahim Ibankhan
Law student/ essayist/poet.
My works have appeared in the WRICON review, The Lex Observer, Imbube Short Story collection, Storried, etc. When I am not writing cases and sections, I am working on a new piece.
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