stdClass Object
(
[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] =>
[post_status] => publish
[comment_status] => closed
[ping_status] => closed
[post_password] =>
[post_name] => fading-women
[to_ping] =>
[pinged] =>
[post_modified] => 2019-10-15 11:08:22
[post_modified_gmt] => 2019-10-15 11:08:22
[post_content_filtered] =>
[post_parent] => 0
[guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=19577
[menu_order] => 0
[post_type] => poems
[post_mime_type] =>
[comment_count] => 0
[filter] => raw
[meta_data] => stdClass Object
(
[wpcf-published-in] =>
[wpcf-date-published] => 2018
[wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is commended in the 2018 August Challenge #1 on Young Poets Network (YPN).
[wpcf-rights-information] =>
[wpcf-poem-award] => Commended 2018 August challenge #1
[wpcf_pr_belongs] =>
)
[poet_data] => stdClass Object
(
[ID] => 19575
[forename] =>
[surname] =>
[title] => Nazanin Soghrati
[slug] => nazanin-soghrati
[content] => Nazanin is the second-prize winner in the 2019 August challenge #2 on how-to poetry, written and judged by Foyle Young Poet Fiyinfoluwa Oladipo. Nazanin is also commended in the 2018 August challenge #1 on prose poems.
)
)
stdClass Object
(
[ID] => 19575
[forename] =>
[surname] =>
[title] => Nazanin Soghrati
[slug] => nazanin-soghrati
[content] => Nazanin is the second-prize winner in the 2019 August challenge #2 on how-to poetry, written and judged by Foyle Young Poet Fiyinfoluwa Oladipo. Nazanin is also commended in the 2018 August challenge #1 on prose poems.
)
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.
