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All Along, I Laid, Halved

The lake was (all along) a reservoir.

My third grade trip was to a dam.

All along, I wore nothing but hand me down sweaters.

I grow at the mercy of my mother.

Everytime. I height. At the mercy. Of someone. Else.

When I put my forehead on the floor fives times a day.

It will be game over.

My third grade self played squash.

My third grade self could have continued playing squash.

A child is an investment to a future.

Because now. 26. Fat. Drenched dreaming. Of figure skating.

I can’t even sit straight. I look out of windows.

Do you know what a country smells like?

Not home. Never home. (All along) Not me.

Smells like teen spirit.

Smells like sweat moustache.

Smells like mercy lighting up a dam.

Every sleep I was consumed by a bonfire. No music. No dance.

I don’t hate it here.

I don’t hate it anywhere.

But it’s hard hearing my mother cry on the toilet.

It’s hard hearing the winter knock up New York.

It’s hard breathing in smog and realizing (all along) it was Lahore.

All along, it was just me.

But did I even know?

In third grade, I ate a whole box of chalk.

In third grade, I witnessed a freed pigeon return to where it was homed.

In third grade, they found me. Without proof. At the squash court. Hustled.

I only know ill.

I only know mercy.

God.

Have mercy.

I spend my day shifting light bulbs to create company with my shadow.

I spend my day resting halved in warmth and shade.

I know what it will take to not burn me.

But I do not step out of the house.

And the house never steps out of me.

Copyright © 2021 by Ayesha Raees. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on June 1, 2021, by the Academy of American Poets.

Ayesha Raees’s first book of poetry, Coining a Wishing Tower (Platypus Press, 2022), won the Broken River Prize judged by Kaveh Akbar.

Themes

About Ayesha Raees >

About This Poem

“‘All Along, I Laid, Halved’ came from nowhere. I have no concrete memory of its intended context, but just of form. I wished to write a poem in a series of monostich that stood by themselves as statements but also were helpless without the other. Much like my poetry, looking at this poem after its completion is like engaging with a memory rusted, a feeling buried, and a peace of recognition waiting to be discovered. What does it mean to have love and hate for a being that exists in two places at once? The poem rests with sentiments from an adult self to a child self.”
—Ayesha Raees

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