Tuesday, July 2, 2024

Of Smoke and Memory By Mía Ganem

By The Rising Phoenix Review on July 2, 2024

Of Smoke and Memory

If I clench my fists
into the smoke
of this hopeless cigarette,
Can I, with a burning hand
already scarred,
build your face,
out of the air,
from a body
that desperately longs to see you.
Have I memorized your face?
No amount of hours of fearful sight
does you any justice.
Do I belong in the palm of your hand,
all confused and flustered,
wanting to weep this longing,
not able to put it into words.
My senses all numb
and running wild All at once.
I don't know how I would've memorized
your face In such a trance.
What a shame,
my love is all over the place,
so out for a home,
blinded by past naive hopes.
How could I have memorized your face?
See, they're tricky,
my body, mind, and soul,
they all want to belong
to different places and people
but they're never quite sure
which string is the brightest.
— So I'm afraid,
between all the things that haunt me, the outside noises, and clenched fists,
I might not have memorized your face.