Good Soil

SHADYA ABU-NAIM

Illustration by Manar Almahmood (@postcardtoself)

The shutters collapse. The kettle whistles.

Plates from last night knock and shiver—

& I am alive, I suppose.

The begrudging admission sends objects into lurch—

Reeling away from my body like a scene in a movie,

Like an animal’s head, wild with happiness,

And God, God—

I am the worst liar. I do not want transcendence,

Only the small importance of long lessons.

How to dissect the swollen belly. How to endure light on skin.

How to become a poet for people instead of ghosts.

How to become a woman. Woman full-stop.

Indubitable, undeniable woman, worthy of a stamp.

Not a woman that has grown around a child

The way blood scabs or unwanted weeds spread.

No, not that. I am a woman that has grown around a child

that grew inside a garden that grew on bad soil,

Foreign soil, untenable soil, uncredible soil

Soil that’ll spit you back up

But not without staining you first—

Rootless, loveless soil, with concrete leaks

So deep not even the figs stand a chance.

I wake up to it in my bed, pick it from my hair.

Scrub it off my beautiful, grateful tongue.

God.

I want you to all say it with me, now, if you don’t mind,

So that it might become real:

I have become a woman who is a person (disputable) with a body (unfortunately)

And a heart (quite frankly on its last legs)

And I am from a place (full of lovely gardens, built on good soil)

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Shadya Abu-Naim is a Palestinian tutor/emerging writer living in Amman, Jordan. She has published two poems in literary journal Rust+Moth, and has an upcoming feature in Sumou magazine's next issue. You may find her on Instagram via @shadyaabunaim or through her writing blog: @brighthawks.

Edited by Engy Ibrahim.