About Your Voicemail

Listen, I know you’re sorry.
But there is a sheet of fruit flies in my sink.
My library card is 20 bucks under.
My hangnails bleed onto the margins
of all my journals and you. You’re
not allowed to look over your shoulder
and be sorry for yesterday’s broken. On my mantel
is a parking ticket wadded to hold my gum and
a scribble on the back in pink gel pen.
It reads: wash the whites. Trash the soiled milk.
Take care. Take care.
I know you’re sorry but my body is messy
and the layers of dust are thickening
and the sleeps are thin as fog
right now, with or without
your apology.

By Ramna Safeer

Biography:

Ramna Safeer is a pre-Law English Lit student. She is a writer, blogger, researcher, activist and perpetual coffee-spiller. Her poetry has been previously published in The ASUS Undergraduate Review, Atwood Mag and Words-on-Pages Magazine. Her essays and articles have appeared in The Huffington Post, New Canadian Media and The Queen’s Journal, where she works as the Editorials Editor. She is the founder and blogger at CherishChai.com, an online space that maps her journey to recapture her Pakistani, Muslim heritage.