Ingress, by Diyach Thebo. Image courtesy of the artist
i ride an uber spilling the last of the day’s ginger light
driver handsome enough to pull listening sounds as he chats
our talk is casual at its centre but at the edges
i taste an old brittleness memory of something burnt
he circles his mouth to an electronic cigarette
& its vapor braids into the earth & vinegar smell of sweat
you are muslim he tells me not a question
& i nod smile at his smoke-dark eyes in the mirror
i count the prayer beads strung in a necklace
from his rearview ninety-nine & perfect glossy & unworn
mine are sandalwood & leave their perfume
when cabling through my fingers
drink? smoke? he demands an inventory of my wickedness
in the way men of my faith think me immediately theirs
daughter & sister & wife always a test
& never asking my name
in the rippling mirror my head uncovered
extra button undone from my shirt
i know this exchange & its right answers
a blink & head shaken no
he squints his endless eyes at a red light he turns
counts what he sees in my face
& the light drips in to share our ride
new vermillion along our bodies
i blink again & measure his disbelief
i am tired in the new dark
& ready to confirm whatever he decides i am
for a moment of quiet moment to rest
my loosened hair smells of coal
floats over the backseat like smoke
~ Safia Elhillo
Safia Elhillo is a Sudanese-American writer and educator living in Washington, DC. Her collection of poems, ‘The January Children’, received the Sillerman First Book Prize for African Poets and is published by University of Nebraska Press. She is a Cave Canem fellow and holds an MFA from the New School.
