Transcript

I’m Ada Limón and this is The Slowdown.

I’m sure many of us have family members who hold values that differ from our own–perhaps they are more conservative, traditional, more steeped in older modes of thinking. I remember a serious conversation with my grandfather once in which he told me never to write about sex. Which of course only made me want to write about sex.

I have friends that are sitting on whole manuscripts of poems that they will not publish until certain family members pass on. Not out of fear, not entirely, but more so out of a certain respect for the elders. The differences between our elders and our youths seem to be magnified these days.

Or perhaps it has always felt this way. Perhaps we have always struggled to push new radical ideas while the old guard maintains a foothold on the benefits of doing things the way they’ve always been done. The hard thing becomes how do we love each other through the strain of the separateness of age?

How do we not lose each other, lose family members, lose friends, when our beliefs or even our identity is threatened by their way of thinking? And when do we have to cut those ties and turn instead to our chosen family for support? These are some of the big questions of our age. Sometimes it’s good to practice forgiveness and understanding, and sometimes to save ourselves, we need to untie the shackles of shame bestowed on us by traditional values.

In today’s tremendous poem, the speaker moves through an exploration of shame doled out by the family. As the speaker tries to hold the slippery weight of it all in the palm of their hands, a new awakening comes.

Come give me a kiss on the cheek
by Manahil Bandukwala

Chulu bhar paani me doob jao: to drown in the water that fits in one’s palm: to be ashamed
 
Hold out your hand, curl fingers to space.
Now turn the tap on. Let water run
 
& run off your lined hand. The slice that runs
parallel to your life line stings a bit. Keep your hand
 
straight so your palm fills with water. Don’t let it
drip. Hold as many drops as you can 
 
& go drown yourself in it. How shameful, 
the dating, the kissing, the fucking. How could you share
 
on Facebook a post supporting abortion? Now everyone
will think you’ve had one. Would you kill
 
god’s creation? Would you? Would you write
his name with a lower-case h? How shameful, the drinking,
 
the smoking, the short skirts & bare shoulders.
See, if you covered your legs it wouldn’t
 
have happened this way. & if you’re going to kiss
a girl, make sure no one knows about it. Is the water
 
still in your palm? Just a few drops. Good, now
you can drown again, the swearing in English, 
the slices of ham behind rennet-free cheese slices,
 
this thought of travelling through Europe
alone. You cut through the men’s section at the masjid
 
now everyone will say look, what a slut. The breathing, 
the eating, the sleeping. Your palm is dry
 
won’t you come home to see me?

"Come give me a kiss on the cheek" by Manahil Bandukwala. Used by permission of the poet.