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Descending
In Tibet,
we are jumping off
mountains, all liquid, no mind.
Our bodies bluing with each
exhalation, edema is our strongest,
if secret hope—to become like
the Black Sea,
to become water
against that stolid mountain,
to leave behind only condensation.
We welcome that movement
as we welcome wind--cold-fisted
but so easily opened.
Back home, they’ll say marooned.
They’ll say exposed and frozen
as if they finally understand
what those words mean. They’ll call
our mud-colored faces porcelain,
and leave our black limbs alone.
Sensing a break in the storm, we leave
our bodies on different ledges
and begin climbing out.
Marika Ismail graduated from the University of Michgan's MFA program
in 2003 and currently teaches English there.
She is originally from Florida.
Email: Marika Ismail
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