Sunday, March 15, 2009

In Stillness By Yalie Kamara

This evening, they lay in darkness locked into each other like fleshy jigsaw puzzle pieces, Her back against his stomach, his arms below her breasts, they’re living a naked farewell. A quietness drapes them as the house creaks from oldness. Or maybe loneliness. It seems Necessary they contemplate these noises, fearing they’ll make them by daybreak. So they Kiss each time they hear a sound reminding them of the future. Of tomorrow. Yes, it’s true. She has less faith in touch than he, convinced that contentment and goodness Only come into existence to die and leave their ghosts on her lips and in her heart Unlike he who calls her pessimism impatience. He pulls her in closer when he Feels her falling into these morose thoughts again. His chin rests on her shoulder. Days Old stubble stings her into greater wakefulness. Rain taps on the window, taps on ears, he taps her and she turns around. He tells her This: I love you, too. Far before the words have left her mouth. She is beautifully broken Her head on his chest, she sighs deeply. Her exhale spans the length of his body. Honesty Exhausts her. But sleeping in consonance is better than living with chaos in every breath. Night surrenders itself to the pearl colored sun as if it knows that she can’t handle being Open like this. Today she goes to the airport. Five days from now, he leaves the country. Worrying about tomorrow is useless.

As a poet and writer Yalie continues to draw from her experiences and surroundings to present her creative works. She currently resides in France, where she writes, thinks and does fly shit.


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