TWO POEMS | MISHA BELDEN
In Which Desire Equates to Square Footage
I take stock of the ways in which she walks
her stumbling and pristine posture
and her dark hair that follows.
I am all-in madness
rooting, rising toward her
There is a chair to the right of me
and I can’t find the balance to center
in this room with one window
I feel the chance of her breathing
and the kettle screams in response
I know I knew her once,
as I watch her sip her tea
I know I know
her tongue is too fat for my mouth
and her ego, I know well
it bounces around the bedbugs
and avoids the cockroaches in the bathroom
It is too crowded when you take stock of the insects
I haven’t yet found the room to house so many hearts
As the cat purrs loudly,
I figure it for resonance
then gather myself from the bed
in the center of this small room
turning,
I murmur,
and as she echoes,
the walls bow.
This syntax of quilt tops
amongst the quiet and the quotidian
I’ve rested my hands upon these stories before
what bodies are imprinted in these stitches
what poems about us are stained in cloth
but she is literal—
and my instinct is besides itself.
She leans gingerly against the wall
and the windows’ light licks her tentatively
In which it begins to rain.
In which the draft is too noticeable.
We watch the cockroaches scurry
in their multitudes across the floor
as they seek refuge in the shadows
the bedbugs crawl across the sheets
I hide my desire
and the sting between us
takes up the room.
I’ve been okay with this kind of brokenness before
She knew my lovers were all once Shakespearean
she told me in that small room
told my bones from my muscle
told skin apart from an eggshell
freckled,
she touched me where it no longer mattered.
Disarticulating every joint in my body
until I’m pieces before her
she looks at me spread out on the floor and says
she has never seen anything so beautiful.
So we fucked with the windows open to let out the smell of sex
as a gardenia tree blooms,
we take stock of the arborists peering in
this room is smaller than the light sting between us
and I make effort not to complain.
I was all at once fragile
when she parted her lips
so without hesitation
I slip inside.
I am met with a strand of pearls
curled around the body of a serpent
it discerns the intention
and asks to observe this sacrament
come
it says
here
she says
so before I have the chance
to wet my mouth
she slips her tongue inside my nostrils
slithers down my throat
through which she tries to breathe for me
I choke.
I know I know
the topography of her skin
how to pry open her pores
and how magnificent it is
to find the stained glass of her iris
and see the church pews I’ve prayed in before
I remember now I’ve become familiar with the holy
but, oh, how far we’ve strayed
and the sting between us,
this small room can no longer contain.
I know her Gods well
and on my knees
has never felt the same.
sa ilog
in my dreams an elder wades in the blood river, she fishes for leeches, beckons me over and i abide, i am strong against the current, doubled down, my feet planted in the mud, it feels like i have been lost for so long, the elder in the river asks for my hands, in them she places leeches, they bite, and from my blood a sampaguita blooms, i smell my mother wafting in the air, and the elder in the river tells me of my mother’s mothers, reminds me of their islands, the grand archipelago, where they took their first breath, where they had their first heartache, reminds me that this, too, is a home, that i can belong here if i can see myself with honor, the current then quickens, and the elder places a leech on each of my eyes, shows me many wars, warriors clad in centipede scales, the babaylan who held the world up with their hands, reminds me that the things often forgotten, are the sacred and the brave, a mountain erupts in the distance, she says to listen to its voice, tells me there are things i have not allowed myself to hear, tilts my head up to the sky, and the leeches peel off, as i weep blood, there is still so much left of me, and there are many voices, they offer me their blessings, and tell me that this body is made up of many, i am them, and they are me, the elder drinks from the river, offers me leeches, i take them and leave, and the blood pooling in my hands tells the story of the river, and the elder who gave me leeches.
Make it stand out
Misha (they/them) is a queer, mixed-race second-generation Filpinx student. They are a poet, an organizer, and a student. Misha is studying Psychology and Japanese at Portland State University. They have a B.S. in Anthropology with a minor in Creative writing from PSU. In their writing, they like to explore the ways we create, navigate, and inhabit space, place, and time within our own identities.
Cover art by Sherita Trent. Overflowing Vintage Pyrex. 5x5. Mixed media.
Sherita Trent is a mixed media artist residing in Portland, Oregon. Her process is intuitive, detail oriented, and playful—producing works of art that exude her deep appreciation for the magic within the everyday moment. As a Black artist, she is particularly interested in reverbing the message that Black Joy is Resistance! You can see more of Sherita's work on Instagram: @ofquirkywonder and Facebook: www.facebook.com/ofquirkywonder. Keep an eye out for her Etsy shop coming soon!: www.etsy.com/shop/OfQuirkyWonder
