On the morning my womb sheds,
I am told by the earth to rest—
to remain enclosed in the circle of pulsating inactivity,
like a fetus.
The yoni awareness mentor describes,
the turmoil of the inner winter—
the way the body uses and expels its nitrogen, phosphorus, potassium,
like a flower.
Louder than the universal dripping mutation,
the beckoning alarm, the means of production—
tend to the product of your ill-chosen craft regularly, reliably
like a factory.
Your glory is not fading!
It is packaged in colors of the West-swaying flag—
forage, unpack, and revel in the sweet nectar commodity,
like a fruit.
In the evening after toiling
dazed and bloodless on a concrete plank—
hoping for snow, strong wind in the night to defer time away
like a fugitive.
On the morning the men are toppled,
inner spring, exterior demolition and prosperity—
I sweat in the forest on a ladder dropping pine cones with a stick
like freedom.
Nadine Makarem
Nadine Makarem resorts to writing for exploration, defiance, and catharsis. Her career has mostly centered on development work with different international and local organizations, as well as a stint in journalism. She co-established the Poetics Collective, “Shatr شطر”, with two friends in Beirut and currently works on her own freelance writing projects as the only tools available for transformation and grounding amid a broader reality of injustice, turmoil, and hegemony.