August 5, 2025

Vestibular

by donia salem harhoor

Claustrophobic and disorienting, donia salem harhoor’s poem invites us into a scene of recollection that weaves the mundane with the fantastical.

Originally published in Mizna 24.1: Myth and Memory, this poem is reprinted here as part of the Disability Folio.

—Kate Bestall, editorial intern

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. . . nails in mouth you attempted to close the chasm by pounding away awkwardly at the loose slats    you heard some scream    thought it jay    thought it locomotive    thought it wind    realized it was steam pushing through spout in the muddy rush to hot stove you forgot what tea you had wanted . . .

—donia salem harhoor

Vestibular

the six baby teeth extracted from your ear’s canal lay upon the dark walnut table of your blue gray kitchen    they are singular relics of the children you let go     the babies you swallowed after conjuring      the magic you wished to reverse     at 9:01 a.m. you were not yet aware of the black cuspids or their boney dance and gnawing attempts towards perforation    instead    you blamed the vertigo’s rattling spin on a last dip in the caribbean before getting on the plane home at 9:01 a.m. you refreshed the dog’s water    put the kettle on    steadied yourself against the sink basin     looked out the window and saw branches of the neighbor’s sycamore biting through your fading fence    you found the under the sink hammer   pulled your crimson muck boots on    slid unsteadily out the back door while holding back the dog who is much too eager for freedom to be trusted      nails in mouth you attempted to close the chasm by pounding away awkwardly at the loose slats    you heard some scream    thought it jay    thought it locomotive    thought it wind    realized it was steam pushing through spout in the muddy rush to hot stove you forgot what tea you had wanted    inside it took time to find your pup    the shrilling vapor sent her rushing to the farthest corner of upstairs closet   ears pulled down her tired jaw chattered a dirge for her lost siblings    at 10:13 a.m. two towns over your legs kissed the sticky vinyl examination chair while a man just met asked you to follow his finger with your eyes before he laid his hands on you     you disappeared for a moment when he did    pictured the sea then the dishes waiting your return    the man cradled your head with an unexpected tenderness     then threw you down your shocked arms flailed    grabbed only air    your eyes tracked wild through the dizzy obsidian descent    all the eye exercises were not enough    nor was this plummet    only when you speak your nearly children’s names does some balance return    their incisors spill out of you you catch them all     plunge them into your pocket before the doctor’s assistant can see

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