Scherezade Siobhan is an Indo-Rroma Jungian scarab turned psychologist, mental health advocate, community catalyst, and a writer. Her work has appeared in international journals, anthologies, art exhibits, theater performances and bios of okcupid users. She is the author of a chapbook, Bone Tongue (Thought Catalog Books, 2015), a full-length poetry collection, Father, Husband, (Salopress UK), poetry pamphlet, to dhikr, i (Pyramid Editions, forthcoming) & her next second full length collection, The Bluest Kaliis, scheduled for release in 2018 (Lithic Press, USA). She is the creator and curator of The Mira Project, a global dialogue on women's mental health, gendered violence, and street harassment and also runs Bruja Roja — a literary space dedicated to publishing arrangements of language, art and journalism by women, non binary, trans, queer & neurodiverse people. She can be found squeeing about militant bunnies at @zaharaesque on twitter/fb/IG.

Also by Scherezade Siobhan: Bone, Tongue Father, Husband Graveyard Shift

Scherezade Siobhan

from Left of Azul

Forgiveness extinguishes its canaries on the damp coal of badly tutored tongues. Another day, another erudition that desires to knife out the second "r" from Rroma. Cue : Pharrijmos, slurred & schismed, as in another Us cut up from the root, as in genocide, as in the way this ancestry lullabies my body through its dysthymia. At midnight, the legerdemain of his eyelash breaches the cartomancy of my cheekbone — (t)his whiteness of being — axiomatic & unpurposed. I am thinking about my grandmother's hair falling like sheaves of phosphor, a mouthful of snow in the Hindkush, غصه خوردن (ghosseh khordan); to eat sorrow. To eat it wild. Now, I have mouthfuls of dark chants, words crawling about the altar of my tongue like torched wood-ants. This reluctance to effervesce for him, to peal & pour like a heartdeep blunder. To let his voice whistle through me as a prelude to a storm. I know that the oldest hungers in my skin must fold in a straight line. Every kiss sparks another sun to pray for me. Every aura is verduous with its own worm-hedged leafing. My eyes now rich with Tahoe and its stars. The wound of his name slowly split between woman & war.

Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
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