Eye Candy, Poetry, Visual Art, Words
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pal·at·a·ble: Farah Ghafoor

Words by Farah Ghafoor

HOW TO BE YOUR OWN REAPER:

they dangled and cracked
like the hearts he
liked to collect,
ornaments that pulsed
like drumbeats,
sizzled like firecrackers.
she bit into the pomegranate knowing what was to come.
knew it would taste sour
like power and swallowed.

persephone was a huntress who
believed she had stayed out too long
in the sun.
she only light she wanted
came from the glow of bodies
floating in lethe,
they trembled with promise
and compromise.
she sucked her teeth
and waited.

 

NO MAN’S LAND

somewhere in a distant country
something drops into the lake
of my lungs
it’s my heart
filled with lead and licorice-like worms
it makes
waves ripple down my thighs
no living thing
cries out
instead, they ache
echoing off
the hollows of my knees
my chin trembles for them.
my bone marrow is
a nesting ground
for parasitic relationships
a waterhole for the dead and needy.
my voice makes them jump
when I say
“what defines a jungle?”
“the leeches”
before I spy fungus growing under my tongue
glowing with
animalistic light
no human can survive here
not even
me.

 

WHEN THE TV COVERED MY DEMISE 

Headline: when she found herself ruined

as the rubble of another natural disaster

Channel 1: me, pretending to sleep when a tornado

threatens my roof. don’t try to wake me, it says,
I say. but I have woken and there’s no
going back to bed now.

Channel 2: the water slaps me up on to the shore,

like an unsatisfied customer.
nobody gets money back, or me,
I am bad at repaying debts.

Channel 3: pieces of me pitter-patter on to people’s heads

and the umbrellas bloom and the sky booms
this is how I am thrown around.

Channel 4: the earth is angry

at the things I’ve buried in it.
it doesn’t want me nor my sins.

Channel 5: I am picked up by the maw

of the breeze, and left at the base
of an evergreen with rabbit feet.
either left to survive or

Channel 6: be born again.

final


 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Farah Ghafoor is fifteen years old and likes the way “poet” tastes in her mouth. She currently lives in Ontario, Canada where she enjoys smelling perfume samples and thinks she deserves a cat. Her work is published or forthcoming in several places, including her blog, worrdwoman.tumblr.com.

Artwork by Ashton Carless

 

 

 

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