Sarah Uheida

Entering a Room

The poem: deceptive,
we are not the children of tomorrow
so do not break my jaw with spring and summer/ with ponds and pearls/
I saw you sitting in a puddle of survivor’s guilt and walked right past/ I’ve got my own rivers
to drink dry, baby/ all I wanted was shelter for the night/ hold me cowardly that I may
wake and walk/ my bed was set on fire eight years ago/ and now/ touch me where there
is already blood/ touch me like burn and bandage/ Look what I’ve done with the room
honey/ I have charred the walls/ Smoked your perfume outta the pillows/ oh and honey/
I won’t be able to make the dinner date/ or the breakfast in bed/ cannot get back/ got
caught in the storm/ or in the openfire/ got caught stealing bread/ or breaking my
affection against your teeth/ got caught whispering to the enemy/ got caught in the
bombs of 2011/ a boy’s body lit like an unlit match/ another woman, bodiless/
there is this saying in Libyan/ how does it go, oh god/
I am trying to detangle memory from trauma/ trying to open backdoors to my childhood/ so as
to not have the alarms impale me/
entering a room is not the same as exiting it
/that’s how it went/
entering a room is not the same as exiting it/ and you have been entering and entering
/so sinless/
honey look at the mess I’ve made/ I dropped the paper knife/ admired the papercut/ but the
wound was unimpressive/ the blood just won’t gush goddamn it/ it gapes for a long time,
though/ so that is something in this nothingness of surviving/ you hide the strappings from
me/ lasso the fishing net/ I think of the Mediterranean and its hungers/ lapping at my
mouth/ I think of the Roman ruins on which mama built us a house/ and now
/ruined ruins/
and now/ revelations like the Nile/ but love is betraying the night/ love is waking up/ too
gentle/ give me your mouth/ like a hook/ pass my panties/ I needa go home and air out
the smokeroom/ because entering a room was never the same as exiting it/ and I have
been exiting and exiting/
so sinless

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Sarah Uheida was born in Tripoli, Libya. She is 21 years old and is currently busy with her undergraduate in psychology and linguistics at Stellenbosch University. She learnt to speak English at the age of 13 when the civil war in Libya forced her to start a new life abroad. She is compiling a poetry collection, Beautiful Women and Where to Find Them, and penning down her memoirs of the war, A Girl’s Plethora of Knives. You can find her strolling through the streets of Stellenbosch and reading Sylvia Plath. Her work is featured in the literary journal New Contrast and Blindeye.