Talking about the weather by Myrna Al-Tajuri

Jul 7, 2023

I don’t like to be perceived  

my favourite Aquarius quip  

said with a chuckle and my whole chest –

for eyes on my skin, small hellos and howeyas 

in smoking areas and bathroom queues /  

imagined passengers in passing cars  

feel like scalpel incisions –

the flaying of a beast. 

I crumple into nothing 

under floodlights of sight.

sometimes grinning back from behind 

my woman mask –

sometimes assembling passable chat –

more often slinking away  

the Irish goodbye  

eventually /

don’t take existing so fuckin’ seriously  

to me from me –

because that, dear self,  

is merely being looked at –

an address, an invitation 

to the banter table –

apocalyptic nightmare for

this introvert.

I grieve the loss of once being up for the craic /

down for connection /

well able – sure look.

a true peeling back of my surface /

a burning of these walls /

the act of sincere perception –

to be understood 

shakes me to my peach-pit core. 

I resist so deeply your searching 

gaze / tone

 in an act of learned self-destruction.

I yearn I yearn – my yearning the moon  

pulling the tide / the push / an inner dance between two desires –

to be consumed whole  

flesh sucked from bone  

the marrow of my knowing a meander in your throat – forehead to forehead –

intimate friend.

I long to be cradled by another brain  

a solemn nod – I gotchu 

silence – cosy / complete.

in conflict with the seductive roar of isolation –

fortified by flashing neon memories –

the cringe of fleeting eyeballs raising hair on my arms.

the siren’s call to give in to inner voices /

make a duvet cave – hide away /

 nurse ancient wounds 

and wish for days in the sun with another she – my happy self.

soft laughter at bus stops /

the ease of saying nothing but knowing all /

the magnitude of souls mirrored back between us. 

I can’t decide –

come be alone with me /

come be alone.

we can even talk about the weather – 

for nestled in the contours of your words is me –


Myrna Al-Tajuri (she/her) is a Dublin-based writer. Her work often explores themes of loss, belonging, perception, the blessings and tension of existing from/within two cultures, and the threads that bind us to the past, to ourselves, to each other. Myrna continues to learn to take up space – within herself and within the world as a queer working-class Irish-Arab woman – to pursue the flow of the page and to feel entitled to create. She strives to write only what she knows to be true, while accepting that truth is amorphous and unknowable.

IG: @maltajurii

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