Tell Him Your Name

by Shahd Fadl

He, was the boy with a heavy name
The type that rolled off your tongue
And left noise residue in your mouth
Still you remembered his name.

You remembered the ink stains
On the edges of his fingers
And the marks on the lifelines of his palms
You remembered his poems

He spoke of home, rivers, and valleys
How the girls in his life were oceans
and how he did not know how to swim
Or sail, or weather storms.

He claimed he was afraid of water
And heights. He was not friends with the sun
But the coffee spilled into his cells
Gave him a natural tan. The type you fancied.

He had a brother,
Who he no longer knew because
One summer night someone spilled his blood
All over the pavement, and the sky fell.

He carried a lot of luggage,
Heavy with open wounds,
An array of resistant scars
And mistrust for time.

So you did not know whether to trust time either
You just wanted him to let you in,
So time and time again
You knocked on his ribcage

You wanted to tell him
That you were a Mediterranean exception
To all the oceans he had known,
That you were a shoreline he never had to fear.

You wanted to tell him that you hated salt
And so, you did not want to leave. Ever.
That your legs were not built for heights
And that you know how to clean bloodstains off pavements.

You wanted to unpack your luggage
And tell him he was not alone.
That time wasn’t so bad since it had taught you
How to weather storms and seal wounds.

You wanted to tell him that his was a name
You’d gladly carry in your mouth
Despite its weight. You wanted to tell him
Your name.