"Aubade Ending with the Death of a Mosquito" by Tarfia Faizullah

Aubade Ending with the Death of a Mosquito
by Tarfia Faizullah

—at Apollo Hospital, Dhaka

Let me break
                            free of these lace-frail 
                            lilac fingers disrobing
the black sky
                            from the windows of this 
                            room, I sit helpless, waiting,
silent—sister,
                            because you drew from me
                            the coil of red twine: loneliness—
spooled inside—
                            once, I wanted to say one 
                            true thing, as in, I want more
in this life,
                            or, the sky is hurt, a blue vessel— 
                            we pass through each other,
like weary
                            sweepers haunting through glass 
                            doors, arcing across gray floors
faint trails
                            of dust we leave behind—he 
                            touches my hand, waits for me
to clutch back
                            while mosquitoes rise like smoke 
                            from this cold marble floor,
from altars,
                            seeking the blood still humming 
                            in our unsaved bodies—he sighs,
I make a fist,
                            I kill this one leaving raw
                            kisses raised on our bare necks—
because I woke
                            alone in the myth of one life, I will 
                            myself into another—how strange, 
to witness
                            nameless, the tangled shape 
                            our blood makes across us,
my open palm.





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