Harry’s by Olivia Qi

Harry's
by Olivia Qi

“Cynicism is the great mask of disappointment and the betrayed heart.”
-Bell Hooks

She says
she’s trying to build a roster, I say who are we running from.
The (married) captain at work has a daily ritual of brushing all the hostesses feet with his little broom.
He says it’s to ward off marriage.
Eyebrows raised, lips pursed in humorous cynicisms
each woman raises her foot letting the bristles kiss away her longing for a different history. And 
her growing fear that the cards will present an eerily familiar future.
Some days I raise my foot
some days I refuse and proclaim 
“Today I choose love!”

As I write this, two dogs attack each other outside my first story window overlooking the street
Their owners yell
a cacophony of chaos
man hitting his dog-the aggressor.
The Woman shrieking in athleisure 
tugs desperately on the hind legs of her own.
Snout clenched between snarling teeth
she yells a name 
over, and over, and over, and over
until the pups release.
Quiet ensues.
The block lays still, 
Silently rattled.

A month prior:
in the middle of a thick summer night
tossing and turning I began to hear a similar street side commotion
I peel out the blinds to take in the panic.
There were no dogs, and no owners. 
Just a man and a woman, and a motorcycle helmet used as a closed fist. 
And words used as a scalpel.
And me, alone in my bedroom. 
Nakedly dissecting the Horror. 
Making sure it doesn’t go too far.
Asking: What is too far? 
When one of them is bleeding out on pavement?
They yell names
over, and over, and over, and
no one does, bleed out on pavement.
They Separate themselves-speed away
the moment is done, 
and most likely anything but over.
Half Broiled, but still raw inside the middle.

I’ve been the dog
teeth barred in the street. 
I’ve cleaned my lover’s blood off grey tile, 
nursing self inflicted wounds he said I gifted him.
I have realized, it’s my body I’ve been bent over cleaning.
My body I’m still cleaning.

I thought it was over but it-often-takes something sharp to realize it’s still quite raw inside the middle
God,
Please sweep my feet.
I beg you
Sweep my toes. and
Spare me the pain of wanting that which I’m still too afraid to hold.

Hear Olivia Qi recite the poem on the Viewless Wings Poetry Podcast:

Olivia Weiss is a multi media artist living In Brooklyn, NY. You can find her on Instagram at @qi3.