Sloped, as if in Prayer
Sivan S.
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In a break from my ordinary writing routine, I pieced this poem together over months, pulling parts from conversations hidden in shakshouka dishes, from gum stuck under pews I rarely sit on and the grating of Purim noisemakers. It’s a work of intention, even as I partially resisted its creation. Furthermore, it’s one I molded out of necessity. Through my line breaks, I attempt to show how everything unravels, every human dynamic resisting definition, every revealed piece of heritage creating diverging opportunities and thoughts, rather than a neatly settled jigsaw. I place blankness and silence around apologies I wish to ignore, all while the work itself is an attempt at clanging away the hurt. Creation is a form of release, and as I pried this tower of thoughts and promises open, I experienced the privilege of unlocking the right box.
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Creativity is the externalization of thought, of feeling, of the piece of my humanity I decide to hold up to the sun. It’s the medium between the abstract and solid. It’s the greatest bridge between our understandings of each other, if only to see ourselves refract together into white light.
