Welcome back for Zoeglossia’s Poem of the Week series curated this month by Kay Ulanday Barrett.
April 19, 2021
Audio
Top Secret Club Abjection
By Ashna Ali
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Top Secret Club Abjection
Ashna Ali
It’s H who starts me on the teas, delivers four fragrant boxes,
mixes them herself. She includes ingredients on a handmade label.
C I find on Instagram talking about her herbalism practice,
how she treats her own body. She makes videos about what my limbs
need while she holds the baby, feeds the dog.
I find N through P, who says hey, I think N might have doctors
who believe non-men when y’all talk. We make a list with reviews,
a private Yelp for queer crips and kin. I find the Naipo Cuddle-O
through B, who uses it before bed to not ask too much
of a massage therapist partner. I buy it as a gift for at least three
of the club, recommend it to everyone who has enough money
this month. We use it together on the phone, the buzzing
and moaning from each of our homes confusing, we hope,
to whomever might be surveilling. When I start the new drug,
two of the club tell me not to be surprised when I can’t eat,
when there’s a zap between my ears, when joy feels
just as far as rage, which, combined, feels like nothing.
Though we live in different states, we coordinate days
to say fuck it, do whatever we like, have one glass of wine
too many, eat everything. We cackle and cry to one another
from wheelchair, bathtub, toilet seat, shower stool,
somewhere on the floor. The club says plans are not plans
unless we’ve measured capacity, found whatever honesty
we have left between the sofa cushions. The club says hey,
I’ve got enough Valium for two, today. The club isn’t afraid
of blood, vomit, piss, shit, pills, passing money around.
Tomorrow we get up, clothe ourselves in health,
a workplace costume because everyone knows
that everyone would rather be fooled.
A non-binary brown poet sits behind a table with their arms crossed over themselves, hands on their shoulders, smiling to the right of the frame. They are wearing a white halter top and they have short black hair and slightly visible tattoos on their arms. They also wear one long black feather as an earring.
Bio: Ashna Ali is a queer non-binary Bangladeshi diasporic and chronically ill poet, researcher, and educator based in Brooklyn, NY. Their poetry has appeared in Nat. Brut., Bone Bouquet, Breadcrumbs Mag, Kajal Mag, and elsewhere. Their chapbook The Relativity of Living Well (The Operating System Autonomous Designs) is forthcoming in 2021. They hold a PhD in Comparative Literature from The Graduate Center, CUNY and serve as assistant professor of Literature at Bard High School Early College Manhattan.