Martyr//Hadiyyah Kuma

I  had  a  dream  I  carried  a  lamb  in my arms,  and I  think
about that as I  sit  across  from you.  You’re  poking a steak
with  your  fork  in a  diner  as  the  sun  rises.  You  say  you
have to  work  but  you’ve  been  fired  so I  know that’s a lie.
That’s  the  business.  Leave  then, go the gym.  Walk  on the
treadmill, die of thirst.  Eat  the air  and hope that’s enough
to  fill  how  many  gaps  in  the  stomach?   Two?  Eighteen?
Make  sure  to  hydrate.  Sweat  is  stronger  than  pride.  Or
maybe pride is stronger.  I see it  burning your eyeballs red,
your wrinkled lips steaming. I want them to dry off and fall
into my palm. I want to control your legs.  All I have is your
fork in my fist,  poking  desperate  holes into  the sky so the
darkness  filters  through.  It  makes  you  want to sleep but
you   make  choices  to  counteract  this.   Choosing to  raise
the  speed  with   seven  beeps,   choosing  to  turn  wet and
orange and burn.  There is  nothing I can do  but watch. In
the dream I did that too.  I put the lamb down in a patch of
grass  and  left it alone.

Hadiyyah Kuma is a writer from Toronto. Among other accomplishments, she has curated a playlist of restaurant sounds because she is soothed by indiscernible chatter. Find Hadiyyah on Instagram  and Twitter, where she tries her best to be quirky and relatable.