Every year on the longest night, the old women tell tales
Of wicked things who travel on the winds,
Whirling wisps and wild screeches
Every door and window is locked without exception,
On this night, they say, the wind does not blow
It howls.

Every year on the longest night I languish,
Sleep deprived
The house is filled with guests, and I sit with my tea in hand
Sipping, laughing, sipping
Waiting
Until the dawn breaks,
With the slightest sliver of soft gold and blood red

I take a spoonful of honey
I stir my tea, watching the saccharine gold melt
I stir and I stir. Tap. Tap. Tap.
I sip

Tonight I will take another spoonful
This time to my mouth
Honey drips from my lips
A lick
Met with a scowl from an old neighbor beside me
Her eyes say I am an ill-mannered girl
I wipe away quickly

I take a walk around the room, I look for your face
Knowing I will not find it
I venture away from the crowd,
I hear faint whispers, beautifully wicked things
They stalk beside my window, covered with ice and sand
Their horrible lullabies beckon me to open my door

I want you to be outside that door waiting for me
I want milk and honey to flow like the rivers of paradise
I want my body to be a river
I want you to swim in it
I want you to bathe in it
I want you to drown

I switch to wine

I pour
I gulp
An elixir of blood, rubies, and longing
I drink like every promise you made to me can be found at the bottom of the glass
I pour again, I pour like this wine is my lover
You said you are my lover
Yet this wine is inside me and you are not

Tonight I will not sleep and I will not meet you in my dreams
I go to the door to the balcony, I step outside barefoot
I see the waxing crescent moon smiling down at me as though to say
“Go on…”

Why should I only meet you in my dreams?
I will ask those wicked things to carry you with them
I will have them bring you back to me
There will be no stars to light your way,
Only a promise to finally taste me again

An icy wind catches my dress and sends shivers down my spine

But who am I to you?
Too much honey in a teacup
Too much wine in a glass
Are you on some other balcony, in the cold, watching the moon smile?
Or are you warm beside a fire?

I go inside and lock the door.

I stayed

When I knew you were burying me
Convinced myself I loved the smell
Of the earth you piled over my grave
“Sometimes you have to get your hands *****” I laughed
I wasn’t the only one laughing

When I came to see you last
I didn’t know I had invited myself to a funeral
You didn’t close my eyes
You didn’t cover me in the funeral shroud
Neglected to inform me
I had died
“Miskeena”* they said

There wasn’t much of a crowd that day
You said you tried, you really did
The mourners reassured you
You did, you really did
Bisous, bisous*

You left without saying my final rites
But the water, snow, and hail
Washed my body clean without you
And I adorned my own body in white  

By chance
If you see me again, please don’t be startled
I’m sure you’ve heard stories of how pretty I am
For a corpse

And when you come close
Don’t expect a stench or a rotten tongue
My skin would make the argan trees weep with joy
Yes, I smell just as good as I used to

You should have already known that I’m the kind of girl who can grow flowers
Even in a grave.


-Norah Khardaji