sai writes

All I can think about is the quiet that shaped me

So quiet here, I can hear my own longing

And then a freight train passes

I remove my makeup

After the bashment party 

We, from Caribbean elsewheres

And other elsewheres

Bubble until morning 

Another day,

Costco-bound, Winners’ bags, Timmies, backroads at noon

A power tower doesn’t yet catch my eye

Nor do the corn fields that are John Boddy’s now

Nor do the brilliant purple flowers on the side of the westward highway 

We take to escape to the (Scar)borough we wanted to be from

Someone’s mother places a wine glass down

Refilled until empty

A bottle’s tipping motion sounds like…

We can never find the words for this most delicate undertaking 

Of pulling oneself apart

White Flight but the Mourning Dove stays grounded, comforts me

A lake pulls me southward

Each wave a thing more purposeful than my own life

not in the feet shuffling 

the flower-giving 

chorus of condolences 

the wailing, even 

it is precisely as loud as a memory 

a meaningful gaze across a room 

found in what their eyes did 

open and close and open and close once more 

the same air

I fell for a Palestinian man in Nazareth. He managed a splendid hotel. He was business-minded, constantly distracted, but tender. 

I had never known such tenderness. 

It became strangely intimate in surprising ways. Once, only a few days after meeting him, I borrowed his camo fatigues and wore them around town. He never asked questions. Neither did I. I liked it that why.

He took me everywhere I wanted to go, and places I never asked him to. Sometimes I wanted to be alone, but he never left my side even in Galilee in a splendid church that demanded solitude.

No one seemed to care that I was Black. It was remarkable. 

No one has heard

A sob of pain

In the chanting of Brazil 

A sad lament

Has always echoed

Since the Indian warrior

Was brought to  captivity

And from there has sung 

The negro intoned

A chant of rebellion in the air

In the Quilombo dos Palmares

Where he took refuge

 Not to mention the struggle of the Inconfidentes

For breaking the chains

Nothing availed 

And from war to peace

From peace to war

All the people of this land

Whenever can sing

Sings in pain 

ô, ô, ô, ô, ô, 

ô ô, ô, ô, ô, ô, 

ô ô, ô, ô, ô, ô, 

ô ô, ô, ô, ô, ô, ô 

And it echoes night and day

It is deafening

Ah, but what an agony

The singing of the worker 

This singing that  should

Be a chanting of joy

Sounds just

There are greater gazes

I turn away

But from afar, my slow moving tongue

Uncertain of its role, says

Let’s make ourselves flawed to each over

But the head has turned 

My body exits

Over the years, I’ve come to love my personal style. It has evolved into something that truly reflects me.

I love sleek bags and monochromatic tops & bottoms I love casual blazers and Chelsea booties with loose-fit jeans I love mandarin collars & asymmetry My core pieces are minimalistic But I love well-crafted shoes with ornate designs And pashmina headwraps in brilliant colours As for jewellery, I love statement pieces 

Sand, turquoise, grey, cream, scarlet and gold are my colours of choice. I get sartorial inspiration from West & North African, Desi, Persian, Khaleeji, and Japanese cultures. 

I generally dislike shopping and avoid malls. I’ve discovered some of my favourite pieces, by chance, in places like Mexico City, Cairo, and Jerusalem and in cute popups and marketplaces around Toronto and Edmonton.

I’ve moved away from fast fashion and shifted towards more ethical and even vegan brands in place of leather, but not entirely. I truly wish I had better experiences finding items at second-hand stores.

Brands I love (mostly ethical, mostly Canadian): Matt & Nat / Balbea / Osborn / Saraswasti 

-subtle

-tether

-linger

-gentle

overused:

lingers

fades to shadow

An obsession will disappoint

Our Gentleness is sacrosanct

But lost already in consumption

Of too many crowded ideascapes

Of slow moving tongues in their words

And assailing a/the self

In attaining them