Today’s choice
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Amirah Al Wassif
The Double
My double sits before me now. I stare deep into her, as I do every day after midnight. When I raise my hands, she raises hers. When I wink with my right eye, she winks back. My childish braid sticks its tongue out at us both.
“Good evening, my double,” I say. “Hello,” she says. “How are things? Anything new?”
I consider the question, exactly as I do every day. Anything new?
The sun rises daily. The moon follows us everywhere. Flowers open and close, yet people still pluck them for others with broken hearts. I still count to a hundred before opening any message. The plagues are here. The jealous neighbor is here. The traumas remain.
We still let the large moths sleep among the clothes in the closet, hoping they are the souls of our dead. We still go shopping, read motivational stories, and ruin the environment while holding conferences on how to fix it. Living on Earth, we book digital outfits.
My double is like a photo negative. Her dreams have a voice; her imagination is larger than the galaxy. Yet, she asks: “Anything new?”
I narrow my eyes slyly—the philosopher. I hug myself to reassure us both. The Earth is still here. Yesterday’s breath is still on the pillow. My aunt is still fighting with her husband. New Year’s Eve repeats.
Amirah Al Wassif is an award-winning poet and author. Her poetry collection, For Those Who Don’t Know Chocolate, was published in February 2019 by Poetic Justice Books & Arts, followed by her illustrated children’s book, The Cocoa Boy and Other Stories, in February 2020. Bedazzled Ink Publishing Company released her collection, How to Bury a Curious Girl, in 2022. Most recently, her latest collection, The Rules of Blind Obedience, was published in December 2024. Her work has appeared in numerous print and online publications, including South Florida Poetry, Birmingham Arts Journal, Hawaii Review, The Meniscus, Chiron Review, The Hunger, Writers Resist, Reckoning, and Event Magazine, among others.
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hear
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surfers slice big waves in half.
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calm foggy blue linen
sleeved in lavender,
press frizzed hair
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roost on ram-tarmacked roads
and hot guapas carrying fish baskets
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strained by chalk.
Where the brim-full hill cries,
weeping tracks merge
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Cofiwch Dryweryn, that two-word protest,
white on blood-red background, landscaped in green,
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Some days I must immerse myself in the waters
These days are more than others
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He does not shout. He charts.
Where treaty lines once hung like old nets,
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Huddled on the cat’s blanket,
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Scribbled notes regretting tea,