There's a Tug at the Base of My Skull

Written by Eman Shumail

There's a Tug at the Base of My Skull.

A thread emerging out

of blood and bone

caught in a door

of an ancient cabinet

in the lovely kitchen

of my childhood home.

It pulls and pulls till my body

presses against walls

and grabs handfuls of air

‘No more,

no more reminders of tender dreams

wrapped in tender words or

fierce tears trapped in the hard floors

of that rickety place.’

But,

There's a constant tug at my head

that carries me away

My body, the shell, insubstantial

till I cannot be, will not be put together

into anything.

All this time, I had imagined

I was becoming

That there was a becoming

I bowed down, hands splayed

towards an inescapable abundance

Begging for the becoming

This time of the year

‘Let me have pomegranates

by the graveyard

Scratch my head with the satisfaction

of lack of thought and feeling’

Yet here I am

My body, the shell, insubstantial still

The house just a house

And dreams and tears

begetting more dreams, more tears

This is your fault

(No, it’s not)

This is my fault

(No, it's not)

To suppose

If you had loved me enough

You would have stayed unbroken

in memories and dreams

Yet here you are.

The bell ringing like a pulse

your body, the shell

pliant at the door