By Anahita Ebrahimi
A lukewarm mixer between us
Your older brother’s gin
My god we are sickand we are tired
Sheepishly panderingto the host For you she is buzzing
For me she is scrupulous
Slow and sober
Slow and sombre
A toast to friendship
Could I have a moment?
The reassurance eats away at us
I succumb
And I have everything to lose
Everything went wrong
Why is it that we hold on?
I’m sorry I left the front door unlocked
And the candles burning all night
This is not where I want to be
But neither was there
And in between was
Clammy hands on the phone
And too many tears
Love letters between notes on
The London Blitz and
Stalingrad
Maybe one day our remnants will be collected
And the shrapnel won’t be so sharp to the touch
It’s too late to clean the blood on the carpet
So I rip it out
And it’s fine but not liveable
We built this home so we could tear it down
