Romantic Inheritance
by Lama Ghrayeb
Maybe it was you
who taught me to be
selflessly devoted
to a careless man.
When I watched
you don your dotted dress
after a deep-clean morning
in a mismatched pajama set,
to prepare for his arrival.
You’d spray a special scent,
add a swipe of velvet red–
only for him to walk by
head down and toward
the furthest couch.
Then you’d sit me on your lap,
my head tucked in your neck.
The swaying never stopped.
So now, when a boy comes
to see me at my door,
I don’t question his lack
of speech or thoughtless
touching. He suggests
we go for a walk to burn
off all my excess weight.
The breeze picks up,
and I could almost smell
your old perfume. I know
it’s insane– it’s long boxed away.