Volume 16:1, Winter 2015
Three Minutes Apart
We enter the tomb in the same order we left
The womb; I, scant behind but the cairn
Accepts you. I pause behind the lozenge stone
To palm read an ancient triskele, air within
The passage sucks gently; a persistent in-
Breath. I walk blind a long while into a round
Room of scaled greywacke; local slate placed
In layers so tight rain has never penetrated.
We are in the old darkness, I cannot tell
If I stand or you ascend in the sentient black.
The light inching into the chamber
As the mock-birth of a solstice sun begins
Tugs sharply on the tether of who we are:
I was the breech birth, I kicked you out.
Majda Gama is a Beirut born, Saudi-American poet based in the DC area where she has roots in the local punk scene. Her poetry has appeared in The Northern Virginia Review, Gargoyle, Jahanamiya and War, Literature & The Arts and the anthology District Lines.