ARCHETYPE The Caregiver

Isra Hassan

 

for Abo


Imagine. 


His words, boulder size, 

are the embodiment of light, 


nestled in the absence of weight. 

He blows air into my bones.


It thinks I’m pumice so it enters 

accordingly. It cements itself in me,

 honeyed. I float. 

My being no longer touches the ground. 

 With no recollection of this season change, 

forgetting it has ever touched ground.

I fail in soft ability.

I fail in memory. 

He refuses to let my wallows crystallize. 

Our dynamic comforts him. Abo. 

It’s so that I can look up to you. 

And even in my ascension, we are equals. 

Imagine.

I ground him. 

Our covalent bond 

had formed a rebirthed 

Earth. One he finds home


 in. Sinking, subsiding 

to newfound solace. A sinkhole 


having deposits of new 

earth and untouched 

space for him 

and I to make space 


for one another. 

A conglomerate of never ending 

love threatens to erupt. 

Our being: always two, 

but our closeness steadfast, 

where our air, like 

our purpose, 

is one. 


*


Isra is a Somali-American essayist, and poet based in Minneapolis, MN. Find her @israology everywhere.

Next: