by Safia Elhillo 

First city, almost mine

I was a difficult pregnancy, sent us across the water in order to be born.

Second city, its only memory a memory of absence

& the return four years later, my brother wrapped in cotton blankets, full head of wet hair. Third city, peacocks & lush green

Another crossing, that ocean of coming & going around which I’ve measured out my life. Languages crowding single file into my mouth.

Fourth city, my grandparents just across the old border

My parents still married, elegant in their linen trousers, parties where I wove through legs like tree trunks & there were no other children. Every color a shade of my own.

Fifth city, site of rupture

First crossing into Europe. Long vowels of new language, its claims to be one I already spoke, everyone mouthing enormously at me as if I did not understand. Little life by the palace pier. Waters the color of iron.

Sixth city, almost mine

My grandmother in her element, solid heft of her calves in a skirt walking me in the mornings to school. A river, also mine. A language that was my first, pronounced in new notes, teaching me new & ugly names for my color.

Seventh city, barely a city

Placid & pastoral, cows & a row of pastel-colored houses, school where I was called the African & never managed to learn French, spent my days in a kind of silence.

Eighth city, another crossing of that ocean

Sticky city built atop a swamp. I thought we would leave & we stayed. Almost mine. Final notes of my childhood, black & milds, boys at the beginnings of their dreadlocks.

Ninth city, city of my freedom

City without protection. Never mine. Around which I planned my entire life, & then left. A book, an apartment, exposed brick of a single wall. Turning of my ugly chemicals.

Tenth city, metallic cold of that other ocean

Facing away from my other places. A husband, a blue velvet chair, the bay & the lake arched around us like parentheses.

Now an eleventh city, its landscape & its colors both familiar & faraway

Half a world from my first city, I watch it burning on the news. I mourn an almost life. I am ashamed of the beauty of my current one. I wake in yellow sunlight. I want to stay for now.

 

 

Poem copyright 2024 by Safia Elhillo. All rights reserved.

See two more poems from Safia Elhillo debuted on The Fight & The Fiddle: “Outdoor Waiting Area, Glendale Tires,”  and  “Portrait of Christopher.”

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Read more in this issue: Interview | Critical Essay | Writing Prompt