Yasmine Ebeed

Heart Transplant Factory

In a locked room with no windows we sat next to the wall. Together we waited our turn. Long hair, dark, curly entangled together. Some cried — others stayed silent. The future was known. The room seemed empty but was filled with our hopes and sorrows. A single clock hung on the wall, its ticking echoed through the room. Its noise bounced off the walls knocking into each and every one of us. The tick of the clock synchronized with our heartbeats.

‘Next’, we heard the loudspeaker say. The first in line stood up and walked through the single red door in the middle of the wall. Fright and excitement were both plastered on her face. She vanished.

We no longer knew ourselves. I know I did not. No emotions, no personality. We had been robbed of those things at the door. They were not ours to ever claim again. We knew not who we were — other than that we were obsessed with what was on the other side of the door. We craved it. Outside that red door, a promise. A promise for a better life. A promise to be desired. Promises made to us had been broken. It is only sensical that this one be too.


Broken Strings

A beautiful stranger
knocked on my door

peering through the window
cautiously

I let him in,
became his marionette

(sweet consolation
empty promises)

(lips pressed to my ear)
never forget

          *

Don’t cut me off
I plead

Togetherness
hanging by a thread

frayed string
wearing thin

don’t hand me the scissors
he said (replied over text instead)

          *

A beautiful stranger
came into my home

TV, radio, furniture gone
left me alone

I watched
through the window

as the stranger walked (sauntered?)
to the next house

rapped excitedly
on the door


Yasmine Ebeed is a first-year student in the College of Arts and Sciences at Boston University. She has performed spoken word poetry, but has never published any of her work before. Yasmine spends her free time writing poetry in her own journal, creating art, and making music.