Shams Alkamil is a Black Muslim poet. Alkamil began writing as a mode of self-expression to then being twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her debut book West 24th Street highlights the anchor a location has on lived experiences. Alkamil speaks of her struggles with queerness, self-love, and the Black immigrant experience. Her second book When Time is Circular was published in June 2024. When not writing, Alkamil spends her time as a local educator in Austin, Texas. Alkamil's work has appeared internationally in Mizna, Ebony Tomatoes Collective, The Ana, Ruth Weiss Foundation, Tofu Ink Arts Press, WriterCon, Poet’s Choice, and more.
Love you. Wish I could have your cancer.
after Gabrielle Calvocoressi
Got your diagnosis Monday afternoon. Heard it during 8th
block. Did not cry on the line. Would love to open your
eyes. Force tears to fall. Will you stop pretending? Strong
isn’t your best color. Washes you out. Love you. Wish I
could have your cancer. Do not care if I’m already
immunocompromised. Fuck thyroid. Don’t even know who
Hashimoto is. Don’t care. Would be honored to keep you
alive. Wish I could feed you during chemo. Maybe ginseng
candy. Or zero-alcohol beer. No ice chips. Too cliché.
Whatever makes you smile. Wish I knew what makes you
smile. Wish you could tell me. Love you. Can’t bring myself
to touch your chemo port. Wish I was smarter. Invent a
new seatbelt. Would finally stop grazing your port. Less
wailing. More time to focus on the road. Wish I knew how.
Miss fighting with you. Shout Stop texting and driving.
Wish you could say I am your mother. One more time. Who
knew it was the last time? Miss you. Wish it was Stage 1.
Would hate you less. Why did you ignore it for so long?.
Know you were preoccupied. Wish he argued less. Could
help you notice sooner. I’ll visit the doctor tomorrow.
Declare I am you. You are no one. Open my chest bare. Say
Cut them off! Stare at Death in the corner. Lose staring
contest. Bargain him ginseng candy. Or forgiveness. Say
Leave her alone. Love you. Wish you could say it back. Not
later. Wearing no oxygen mask. No painful gasps between
words. Wish you could tell me. How less of a woman you
feel. Wish I knew how to respond back. Would keep quiet
instead. Love you. Wish I could have your cancer.
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Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats.
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