Poems and Texts

Untitled by Mina Zohal

17

I don’t know how to answer that. But, when I was a child, when I closed my eyes to sleep, I
would see a face in the darkness. Its flesh disintegrating to the bone, over and over, ripened
and dried. When I was in the fourth grade, padaram took me to the eye doctor because I was
having trouble seeing the writing on the board at school. I told the eye doctor that when I
closed my eyes, I saw a face in the darkness. Its flesh disintegrating to the bone, over and
over, ripened and dried. I asked him if he could give me some glasses to fix that. He said he
didn’t have any glasses that could fix that.

18

My emergency is less about historicity and more about impulse. I sometimes ignore the
current conversation, I admit, and just keep muttering on and on about melancholy,
homelessness, split-consciousness, and vertigo. I keep muttering on and on about debris,
aftermath, trauma, and asymptotic narratives. I mutter on and on.

19

Shard in hollow case its capacity to emit. Koko’s karah thelay lost somewhere above cracked
latch. Wrist bruise gandana puchee.

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