THE HAUNTING
THE HAUNTING
By Farah Lawal Harris, 2024
That feeling of foreigners invading my temple
hunts me.
I am hunted by emptiness behind the detectives’ eyes.
I am hunted by the ugly yellow linoleum floors
of Howard University Hospital.
I am hunted by hairs being plucked,
by feeling like I lost myself in the muck
with stones and grit in my left eye.
I am hunted by body-shaking cries.
My trauma so deep it grew fibroids.
Hunted I was all the time.
The hunting now stops by each April.
I cry with the showers,
then emerge in May as a flower.
If not for the hunting,
I wouldn’t know bliss.
After the hunting,
I became a tulip.