Poetry by Farah Lawal Harris

Missing Pieces


i kinda miss him
but i don’t know why.
i still desire
the one who broke my heart,
hoping that he kept the misplaced pieces
in case he ran into me again.
maybe he hid me in his wallet
next to a year-old condom
or in the bottom drawer
under his socks with holes in them.
i certainly live in memories
that hold such crucial portions of me,
but it’s physically impossible to reach
into another person’s fantasies.
even if i had the opportunity
to sneak up on him while he sleeps,
i couldn’t enter the territory of his dreams–
so parts of my soul are held hostage by a man
who i barely even know anymore.
and now when i laugh,
it’s hard to ignore
that certain tones and melodies are missing–
it’s the difference between a keyboard and a grand piano.
how much better is the original than a hip-hop sample?
i have dwindled into a preview
when i used to be director’s commentary.

if i could stand on a platform and speak
to girls who remind me of me
the day before i gave me away,
i’d warn them not to.
i’d encourage them to hold on tight to their hearts
like the handlebars of a bike
on their first day without training wheels;
to stick to their sanity
as if they had crazy glue on their fingers
and couldn’t remove them until they absolutely knew
that the love they imagined
was real.
i would drill into their heads to grip those hearts
like old white women do their purses
as young black men walk past them on streets,
to take precaution because
i don’t want them to be like me,
searching for themselves in situations
that no longer exist,
wearing tanktops but
still finding their hearts on their wrists,
saying to themselves,
“i never thought it would be like this”
and shaking their heads when they realize that it is
and that there’s no turning back,
just searching for that
piece of them that they gave away,
discovering a few moments too late
that they’ll need their whole selves again one day.

Advertisements

3 responses

  1. Victor A.

    i certainly live in memories
    that hold such crucial portions of me,
    but it’s physically impossible to reach
    into another person’s fantasies.
    even if i had the opportunity
    to sneak up on him while he sleeps…First of all, this whole thing was ILL, like crazy, it definitely reminds me of certain things I’ve written, thematically speaking…stylistically, this thing is crazy. Hats off to you, like your narrative skills are so on point! Thanks for sharing

    September 23, 2008 at 1:45 am

  2. Farah, I really like this piece, the layer on layer of images is terrific. Hats off to you.

    Elizabeth

    PS. This old white woman may grab her heart when young black men walk past, but it’s because she still maintains her imagination and keeps searching for herself in situations that no longer exist, if they ever did, lol.

    September 23, 2008 at 6:27 pm

  3. Pingback: Listen to “Missing Pieces” « Pearls From Pain

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s