Ghazal: Immigrant
I delude rose cotton on white, my scraped skin like bark. A fad, immigrant.
Phenomena glint in the flick of an eye if I whip my head a tad. Immigrant!
I grow stunted, other parts bolting. Furred & leathered for the marketplace,
my body lopes: awkward dork, clunky animal. Prey for the bad, immigrant.
I play at Jane or Charlotte in country-house attic headrooms, never Emily.
Cleaved & corseted, swathed in waltzes. I’m still Bertha, mad immigrant.
I enter the police state under night’s curfew. A bellied inspector in khakis
scrawls my name at roll call. Only here to be useful, to add immigrants!
I serve time, swipe prizes & drift, nebulous. Cloud paranoia rains sequins
crystals, a tucked & shirred self. My parents are finally glad immigrants.
I light candles, melancholy falls. Psyche scores low on trust; dyads nudge
bees, sup tulips. Mothersong of belonging says you were had, immigrant.
- From ‘empirical’ by Gita Ralleigh available for pre-order at thebraag.co/shop
Sharing this absolutely extraordinary and unfortunately very relevant ghazal by @gitaralleigh.bsky.social which features in her upcoming pamphlet, Empirical, published by us here at The Braag.