Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Final Issue 2018
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

Previous Poem | Next Poem