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    [ID] => 19577
    [post_author] => 23
    [post_date] => 2018-10-18 11:43:31
    [post_date_gmt] => 2018-10-18 11:43:31
    [post_content] => The women in my family have learned how to thread silence into the mercurial sky, how to press rust onto the heart-skin hemorrhage of their larynx. They have learned that their mouths were not built to speak, so they yell silently & pulverize their words into salt for the afternoon meal.

The women in my family have learned how to grow inwards, unspool the sinews from their muscles, hollow out their flesh & bleed continuously. At dinner tables, they sit in white shadows with their arms dog-eared & their lips sewn shut.

They have learned how to fade to preserve the glow of the men in my family.

The women in my family stare at Shiraz bottles & wonder how many sips their frail bodies deserve. They watch their husbands lick the glistening oil of freshly fried oysters off their fingers & curl their wine-stained lips with boisterous laughter. They listen to the noise ring through the air & turn copper-penny red.

At night, I watch my mother’s frame split two-fold to make room for my father’s rotund stomach.

I am silhouetted by so many shards.
    [post_title] => Fading Women
    [post_excerpt] => 
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    [post_modified] => 2018-10-18 11:43:31
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2018-10-18 11:43:31
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    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=19577
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            [wpcf-date-published] => 2018
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is commended in the 2018 August Challenge #1 on Young Poets Network (YPN).
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            [wpcf-poem-award] => Commended 2018 August challenge #1
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            [ID] => 19575
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Nazanin Soghrati
            [slug] => nazanin-soghrati
            [content] => Nazanin is commended in the 2018 August challenge #1 on prose poems.
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    [ID] => 19575
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Nazanin Soghrati
    [slug] => nazanin-soghrati
    [content] => Nazanin is commended in the 2018 August challenge #1 on prose poems.
)

Fading Women

Nazanin Soghrati

The women in my family have learned how to thread silence into the mercurial sky, how to press rust onto the heart-skin hemorrhage of their larynx. They have learned that their mouths were not built to speak, so they yell silently & pulverize their words into salt for the afternoon meal.

The women in my family have learned how to grow inwards, unspool the sinews from their muscles, hollow out their flesh & bleed continuously. At dinner tables, they sit in white shadows with their arms dog-eared & their lips sewn shut.

They have learned how to fade to preserve the glow of the men in my family.

The women in my family stare at Shiraz bottles & wonder how many sips their frail bodies deserve. They watch their husbands lick the glistening oil of freshly fried oysters off their fingers & curl their wine-stained lips with boisterous laughter. They listen to the noise ring through the air & turn copper-penny red.

At night, I watch my mother’s frame split two-fold to make room for my father’s rotund stomach.

I am silhouetted by so many shards.