terra (in)cognita
picture the weight of
silver cutlery on a paper tray,
the bloodied, lemoned
hands, the clank of ice cubes
against the brass surface,
the ice-crusted encryption
of outside. foreign lands translate
into
verbal
groping.
there are still three hours until the application of lipstick,
but my fingertips lay in wait, polished and impatient,
the weight of my deception pushes itself against my throat.
the Persian from your mouth sounds like a provocation,
the smell of fried pastries hanging in the air. I have observed
the tilt of thin tattooed wrists holding the water bottle,
the correct angle, the proper, polite tone,
the water splashing
against
the customer’s glass.
I have been transposed
into your dream-waxen land.
Emma Urbanova (she/her) is a writer from Slovakia currently living and studying in the Netherlands. She holds a Master’s from the University of Glasgow in Comparative Literature and English Literature. Her work has been published by small leaf press, From Glasgow to Saturn, GUM, and Speculative Books.