Arsenic Lobster Poetry Journal Poem

Arsenic Lobster poetry journal	Final Issue 2018
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I don’t know my name, I came here to spell words
Ghada Khalil

I don’t know my name, I came here
to spell words,
in the silence: a forgotten
thing, unremembered. I
climb a hill at every nothing
nothings too are things. big things:
they are the least owned belongings/
possessions: they don’t just do nothing;
they open their mouths and swallow
they have a skin, a something
around them and in it holes:
they devour other spaces; then,
they burst, then, they
drip like stubborn faucets, also
they nag, say nothing, hide, un-tell.
sometimes, they are populated
by furniture; furniture and nothings
have weddings, no one attend.
cakes made of air, air scratched and
torn. nothings are very devout, they
pray constantly to a nothing god.
they hang nothing paintings
listen to nothing operas and write
nothing novels. they also think
without knowing they do, about
nothing kisses, and nothing faces.

About Ghada Khalil

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