flushed homesick for Whimsy of that I forage while grazing
loose limbs through meadow, where I tug each blade to wed
the blade in front of it, chain links of chlorophyll
iron When I sway we all do, chain reaction
of nature’s bodies and I’ll be lucky to cross Ms. daisy
ballerina dainty along the waning footpath If
I could abandon chasing understanding with a firearm,
my ego wouldn’t face such brutality If I could find equal
comfort in all nonsense I’d end homesick yearning
choking on the daily Words strung and knotted
with a period: just this can be a truth. Devising
sham scavenger hunts, for whose benefit?
I plan on wearing long cotton skirts this Spring, I hope I follow through
How to live familiar with the whiplash of jerking
to gnawing, see– I can’t help asking questions, now what
should I do? Deprived special ingredient, re-introducing
insatiable Brain, what good does that do? There I go again.
Hair against my headboard, beneath the moon a licorice twilight,
pondering the tree it was born from, at such an hour I am allowed
this truth The tree stood identical to any other, cloaked
charcoal and shadowless. Holding up the carcass
of my headboard’s past life, is this what it takes to lockpick sleep’s doors?
For every question I score an answer, how much soul is desperate
for cracks to plummet into and is it worth Whimsy charged guilty
with folly? I’d like to spin circles, hair swaddled in fresh atmosphere, twirl
without dizzying immediately, this upcoming Spring
If I can let go of understanding why I am compelled to, I will succeed.
Sofia Abbas (she/her) is Indian-Pakistani and a graduate of UCLA, studying sociology and film/television. Her work has been published or is soon to be in Ink and Marrow, Wild Roof Journal, The B’K Magazine, Flat Ink Magazine and elsewhere. Currently, she spends her days as a baker at a dessert shop and her nights fervently writing or poorly crocheting. She lives in Northern California with her menace of a cat, Persephone.
