a song called/ hold on, hold on

“The pulsing of the needles is starting to fade into a crawling ache across his side. Adam thinks he understands now what Ronan meant about how getting the tattoo hadn’t hurt enough. This creeping stinging feels a little like a building orgasm that just won’t break. A monotonous, euphoric anticipation that can’t be forced to completion. He thinks about a terrified Ronan sitting hunched forward over a chair back, or maybe even fully prone, for hours and hours of this and praying for the release that never came. Thinking that if he could just tip it over into something overpowering he could stop feeling like he wanted to be released from so many parts of his life full stop.” 



by Louise Glück

I’m awake; I am in the world-
I expect
no further assurance.
No protection, no promise.

Solace of the night sky,
the hardly moving
face of the clock.

I’m alone- all
my riches surround me.
I have a bed, a room.
I have a bed, a vase
of flowers beside it.
And a nightlight, a book.

I’m awake; I am safe.
The darkness like a shield, the dreams
put off, maybe
vanished forever.

And the day-
the unsatisfying morning that says
I am your future,
here is your cargo of sorrow:

Do you reject me? Do you mean
To send me away because I am not
full, in your word,
because you see
the black shape already implicit?

I will never be banished. I am the light,
your personal anguish and humiliation.
Do you dare
send me away as though
you were waiting for something better?

There is no better.
Only (for a short space)
the night sky like
a quarantine that sets you
apart from your task.

Only (softly, fiercely)
the stars shining. Here,
in the room, the bedroom.
Saying I was brave, I resisted,
I set myself on fire.

you’ll be singing with me

we all arrive together from separate places, all having sworn to have been there earlier
once we’ve sat down, ruth asks the nearest waitstaff when the food’s gonna be served
calling hayder to come over when he’s running up and down the aisle and have him tell us about the henna tattoos on his hands, little miss chatterbox on his right and mr chatterbox on his left, in his baby bird voice
seeing fadli walk in, his face resplendent with joy
“tisa, you did [banquet waitstaffing]” before right” “yeah! well, we’re all banquet waiting now actually”
cheering for farisha like we’re there for supportsquad stuff again: “lets wave an imaginary signboard!!”
when the waiter asks if she can remove the first dish, ruth: “no”
watching farisha doing the taylor swift love story thing of having to pick up her dress to move in it
ruth eating her dessert pensively, then putting down her spoon and announcing “I can’t believe they’re gonna have sex tonight”
not realising h*zrul was famous until farisha asked him up to sing and then frantically googling him under the table
‘i’ve decided i’m gonna sing ‘my heart will go on’ to my husband at my wedding, the full celine dion version, it’s gonna be so awkward’
standing around in the emptying ballroom waiting for farisha and singing along to ‘i will always love you’ in the background, and then laughing to hear ray dancing around bawling the chorus full-throatedly
taking photos in the lift lobby and apologising to a hotel guest standing by us for blocking her way, only to have her smile and say that she was admiring our dresses
farisha’s aunts calling her over for a photo and her uncle grumbling ‘we see her every day!!’
hayder looking gravely at us and handing out sparkly pipecleaners (very reminiscent of when he gave me a potato)
sending photos to the group chat and sydney asking “U guys look so prettyyyyyyy… But where’s the photo of the groom n the bride…”