/ i, a body of water /
once, i turned into a river,
constantly burying the silt around me.
a motion most akin to mourning:
the slick rhythm of burial and temporary life,
but here, mourning mimics love. this, a sunrise.
this, a sunset. this, the day between.
i watch a weaver, fat with sunflower seeds and butterflies,
thread new grass into its nest. this, a temporary home.
/ i, an act of motion /
outside the nest, i hold open my throat.
i have proof that it is an ocean but the weaver isn’t convinced.
this body will soon turn into a monsoon. for now,
the water has no form. blue is the most grateful colour,
but it’s grown quiet. it mourns old motion: the forgiving
expanse of clear. this, an object of grief, but also this,
insisting on mercy. silver body turns up to face the sky.
if i can ebb and flow here, i know the world has too:
i, temporary and full of love. / i, temporary and always mourning.
Munira Tabassum Ahmed is a young poet and performer based in Australia. Her work is featured or forthcoming in The Lifted Brow, Australian Poetry Journal, Cordite Poetry Review, Emerging Writers’ Festival, Runway Journal and elsewhere.