- By Siham Karami
My Heart Is an Extremity
Who crowned the heads of conquerors with leaves? You slam the door. I’m rolling up my sleeves.
We read each other’s eyes and almost drown like gypsies rendered speechless by the leaves.
Then winter strips us down to skeletons: static, silence, sparks are all it leaves.
What is this archaeology of love, brushing fragile shards, preserving leaves?
Waking to a gentle blush, we whisper truth in half-words, all the heart believes.
We slowly die, let loose from the tree, then whirl in restless, weightless crowds of leaves.
Your hands dry out like parchment on their bones, but longing for their firm grip never leaves.
The spine holds words together, names the whole but we extract their meaning from the leaves.
Don’t measure time, Siham, by things that fall, but by the upward thrust of newborn leaves.
Previously published in Angle Poetry
Siham Karami’s work has appeared in The Comstock Review, Pleiades, Measure, Able Muse, The Rumpus, Mezzo Cammin, Tupelo Quarterly Review, Literary Mama, Off the Coast, and Orchards Poetry. Nominated multiple times for both the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, she blogs at sihamkarami.wordpress.com. Her book of poetry, To Love the River, is now available on Kelsay Books and Amazon.