Polymath
If one man can take four wives
And the testimony of two women is equal to one man
Then by that algebra
I can have two lovers
One woman and one man
Or two women and no man
If haraam means forbidden
And haram means sacred space
Then harem is an inbetween place
Unholy and holy
Temple where I frolic with my two wives
On an abacus of their toes and tongues and fingers
Counting my special kind of math
the thing about loving Black men
is they are hunted
so when you are bleeding in the bathroom
unexpectedly
and he offers to run to the drugstore to buy
emergency tampons
you rub your bloody thighs with a makeup remover wipe
while shouting into the space between your legs
Don’t run to CVS!
Don’t wear a hoodie!
because you know errands end in death
for Black men
and you need him to come back home
because there is no one
there is no one
else
the thing about loving Black men
is when he Skypes you to say he was carjacked
with a gun to his head
what makes your heart crack
is not the Glock, the pistol-whipping or the bleeding head
it’s the witnesses who looked at your love
and told the police
that your man is not the victim
he is the gunman they said
and you know reporting crime ends in death
for Black men
the thing about loving Black men
is when your editor calls to say
you must report to the scene of the mass shooting
and you’re shoving press badge into handbag
worrying out loud about traffic and barricades and parking
and he’s pouring fresh coffee into flask and cashews into snack bag
you must say
No.
you cannot take me downtown
because the shooter was a Black man
which means
there will be no negotiations
and the police have asked the public to help
hunt him
you say please don’t leave the house
because they are
hunting a Black man
and last time they killed the wrong Black man
and you know commuting ends in death
for Black men
and you need to come home to him
snoring on your side of the bed
with the dog wrapped over his thick thighs
because there is no one
there is no one
else
qubool qubool qubool
i was not present at my wedding
he married me in a mosque that forbids women
qubool qubool qubool
i said
i sat in my childhood bedroom
on pink carpet that was laid in 1992
hands wet with henna
the imam next to me: it is my duty to ensure you are not being coerced
qubool qubool qubool
i said
my dowry bought one pair of Louboutins
exotic red-bottomed soles like I trudged on glass barefoot
i slept with plastic bags on my hands and feet
to protect the henna for the next day’s festivities
qubool qubool qubool
i said
my feminist mother arranged a celebration
combining my marriage with my med school graduation party
so although i was not present when he married me
we pray that Audre, bell and Arundhati will accept my apology
qubool qubool qubool
Neologisms
Patient S makes up words
Inventive with English her sixth language
She says bloody doctor is stupidating!
These pills are morticious numbakilling!
It makes sense
Patient S’s words make sense to me
It doesn’t matter if you understand, the consultant says
Patient S makes up words so Patient S is schizophrenic
Write it down.
Her words? No. Schizophrenic.
Patient S is Mirpuri
Which means
Genetic mutation was amplified by consanguinity
Bloody groomcousininnit!
Genius is in the Washington Post’s annual neologism contest
Not mad immigrant woman brain
Schizophrenic.
Write it down.
Seema Yasmin is a poet, doctor, professor and journalist who lives in Texas by way of England. Her writing explores how religion influences sexuality and the ways in which women of color reclaim their bodies, sexual agency and power. She trained in journalism at the University of Toronto and in medicine at the University of Cambridge.