(originally published in November Bees, Summer 2016)
Published
Mia Khalifa
Life imitates art in the way
memory imitates life– your face
reminds me of my last swollen
laughter held. Sometimes
there is no comparison– oh, we’ll rise
from geysers with sulphur still
in our fabrics– loose, blue threads
hanging at the maw.
We disassociate and wish
to converge into stars on a single strand
of light–
I remember that copper smell
of a new roll of pennies,
when fifty cents meant more than
being half of something
not quantifiable at all.
(originally published in Pouch, Issue #6)
We Were Shadows
we walked in the shadows
of our shadows to blend
with other shadows
this rectangular geometry
took dominion
over winter
plunked lilies
into the lakes
we never knew existed
(originally published in November Bees, Summer 2016)
Jazz
Trinity
I struggle with the imaginary
beyond the ghost of the current.
The lion will roar and leave a scar
on my cheek, and in that union
to ourselves we will utter we belong
with whatever we believe in.
(originally published in Petite Hound Press)
Flotation Tank
close your eyes,
so you forget.
or remember.
whichever submersion
buries deeper
the salt within you.
it is only you afloat,
naked in the darkest night.
your body is a dream sailing
a sea of decomposing dreams,
patches of brown grass
underneath the auburn leaves.
release what you can touch,
especially if it is nothing.
by then it should not matter
if your eyes stay closed.
when they open, find comfort
in what you cannot see.
(originally published in Skylark Review, Fall 2016)
Following a Trip to the L.A. Zoo
wear sunscreen you’ll thank me faster
do not come to me bearing ailments
it was just yesterday gifts of topaz and corundum your ring-fingers will dance will light over penny slot screens aplomb
some shared jackpot of drunkenness
or worse
sparks from fireflies in the Georgia summer floating flickering stars lightly humming
when a hum turns into a birdcall we whistle like sparrows on a branch
twigs in our talons we offer to the other
twinkle of the moon through the swaying branches above
voices like an owl-song who
are we to hover over the other’s hopes who
will pinch us find we are composed of feathers too raggedy to summon the strength
fingers meekly bristle against your cheek soft as the whirring of the window fan we drift to sleep
so California is the drought I cannot feel it devoid of breathing like a sandstorm
California someday drifts into the Pacific I am my own island thirsting for wet soil
your cotton-morning taste will itself someday drift
(originally published by The Virginia Normal)
Alley Walk Into the Dark Park
ambled through snow to my bowl of ice
my calloused tongue on her cold
the bowl’s organ
shriveled
I was a white door
textured and crumbling
in that manticorean dumpster
buds of teeth and name
the mane
where that doorknob would have been
the park on a picnic
her triangular table limbs
white oaks unhinged
the thunderstorm
and her cold drooping javelin wings
(originally published in Peculiar Mormyrid)
Crystal Snail
Hollywood Hills
pluck stars from the heavens
twist a new celestial face
gods like the river no longer revered
oxygen the miracle
light the suffocation
rebirth me in ash
my fame was crucified
gnarled teeth stained
the slain valor of vodka
etch my name on sacred mountain
worship the white gradual chipping of paint
(originally published in November Bees, Summer 2016)