The House by Warsan Shire

The House

BY WARSAN SHIRE

i

Mother says there are locked rooms inside all
women; kitchen of lust,
bedroom of grief, bathroom of apathy.
Sometimes the men - they come with keys,
and sometimes, the men - they come with
hammers.

ii

Nin soo joog laga waayo, soo jiifso aa laga helaa,
I said Stop, I said No and he did not listen.

iii

Perhaps she has a plan, perhaps she takes him
back to hers
only for him to wake up hours later in a
bathtub full of ice,
with a dry mouth, looking down at his new,
neat procedure.

iv

I point to my body and say Oh this old thing?
No, I just slipped it on.

v

Are you going to eat that? I say to my mother,
pointing to my father who is lying on the
dining room table, his mouth stuffed with a
red apple.

vi

The bigger my body is, the more locked rooms
there are, the more men come with keys.
Anwar didn’t push it all the way in, I still
think about what he could have opened up
inside of me. Basil came and hesitated at the
door for three years. Johnny with the blue
eyes came with a bag of tools he had used on
other women: one hairpin, a bottle of
bleach, a switchblade and a jar of Vaseline.
Yusuf called out God’s name through the
keyhole and no one answered. Some begged,
some climbed the side of my body looking
for a window, some said they were on their
way and did not come.

vii

Show us on the doll where you were touched, they said.
I said I don’t look like a doll, I look like a house.
They said Show us on the house.

Like this: two fingers in the jam jar
Like this: an elbow in the bathwater
Like this: a hand in the drawer.

viii

I should tell you about my first love who found a
trapdoor under my left breast nine years
ago, fell in and hasn’t been seen since. Every
now and then I feel something crawling up my
thigh. He should make himself known, I’d
probably let him out. I hope he hasn’t
bumped in to the others, the missing boys
from small towns, with pleasant mothers,
who did bad things and got lost in the maze
of
my hair. I treat them well enough, a slice of
bread, if they’re lucky a piece of fruit. Except
for Johnny with the blue eyes, who picked
my locks and crawled in. Silly boy, chained
to the basement of my fears, I play music to
drown him out.

ix

Knock knock.
Who’s there?
No one.

x

At parties I point to my body and say This is
where love comes to die. Welcome, come in,
make yourself at home. Everyone laughs, they
think I’m joking.