Poetry 1 min

Earrings Carved From The Sun

Zain Haseeb

Earrings carved from the sun.

Yonder, a concept lays down the robin blue of a home.

The garden fresh with the yearly promise of roses which never grew.

With the step of women who's veins carry the ever bold hum of strife spindled from the same wheel,

She calls, in words understood but unspoken on my lips.

I watch the sky change on a porch always much too warm underneath bare skin.

The horizon carrying the echo of our delighted sun-kissed faces as we reached our hands out to the blessing of cold jets of water from a hose

My aunt, shakes her head; a cow bell

the jingle of her earrings sounding into the night, where snow must fall.

My nani rolls the dusted rugs,

She, a flower hunched over by winter's sigh,

Her daughters hold her hand while

Forlorn wallflowers grow in a porch vacant of chairs.

I cradle my rose colored memories come winter,

Savoring their sweetness nestled inside my cheek, the crinkles of wrappers resounding in both fists.

As I step over the seas, the years unspun,

Until they melt to a remembrance.

I grow up to be stuck in between lines,

Sifted by the heights I aim to reach.

I roll the words stitched in my heart, which sit foreign in my tongue.

Stumbling, in the world I saw through memory which crashed onto me.

Her bones are a feeble reminiscence in my embrace,

As I bow down to be crowned with acceptance.

Two hoops of sewn light.

Placed engraving in my palm.

I sit in reflection to my aunts with their heads held high,

The gold of the continuous endurance of generations penetrating the practiced rays of my life.

The earrings carved from the sun,

Forever echoing the horizon of words unspoken between us, but understood in what was once robin blue, now gold.

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