Fatima Aamir
Ahora
Mexico City, 2020
Bouncing on our knees
purple and yellow hands on knees
hands in hair,
tentative,
But I demand it loud,
Pulling your thick neck
Fingers locked in sweat, smoke
hanging in the air.
Out of pockets, we pull cigarettes
Light and song speed time.
We are hot and living in light
everyone can understand
purple and yellow.
My fingers in your hair,
your lips in mine. Your shirt
You
move in time.
I’m pulling pulling your arms.
It wasn’t just the tequila’s brashness.
Curiosity has sovereign demands --
we were nothing but children
with nowhere else to be.
What do you remember the most?
Me, the security guards.
Gentle patriarchs
eyeing us while we smoked in the club
so we didn’t set the room aflame,
stopping us on our way into the hostel dorm:
No puedes hacer eso aquí!
Witness!
Well, we conclude the night somehow.
You take me to another hostel. A man
lies drunk on the floor while you pay. Smiles at me.
Quiet conspiracy.
A large room:
wooden closet, queen bed,
an extra single, solemn in the corner.
We walk back, holding hands.
I’ve never kissed a Pakistani girl. I hadn’t kissed a German either.
(I almost tell him)
We walk back.
Buildings pale and solemn against the dark.
All that quivers now is the wind.
Bouncing on our knees
purple and yellow hands on knees
hands in hair,
tentative,
But I demand it loud,
Pulling your thick neck
Fingers locked in sweat, smoke
hanging in the air.
Out of pockets, we pull cigarettes
Light and song speed time.
We are hot and living in light
everyone can understand
purple and yellow.
My fingers in your hair,
your lips in mine. Your shirt
You
move in time.
I’m pulling pulling your arms.
It wasn’t just the tequila’s brashness.
Curiosity has sovereign demands --
we were nothing but children
with nowhere else to be.
What do you remember the most?
Me, the security guards.
Gentle patriarchs
eyeing us while we smoked in the club
so we didn’t set the room aflame,
stopping us on our way into the hostel dorm:
No puedes hacer eso aquí!
Witness!
Well, we conclude the night somehow.
You take me to another hostel. A man
lies drunk on the floor while you pay. Smiles at me.
Quiet conspiracy.
A large room:
wooden closet, queen bed,
an extra single, solemn in the corner.
We walk back, holding hands.
I’ve never kissed a Pakistani girl. I hadn’t kissed a German either.
(I almost tell him)
We walk back.
Buildings pale and solemn against the dark.
All that quivers now is the wind.
Biography
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Fatima Aamir (she/her) is a poet and writer based in Vancouver—for now. She has edited and written for The Talon, the University of British Columbia's independent press, and was a former editorial intern at The Capilano Review. This fall, she will begin her MA in Comparative Literature at the University of Toronto. She can be found musing over art and social justice on Twitter at @fatimaaamir.
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