Issue 3: Dictationship

3 Poems

Asiya Wadud

it was satisfactory

venus was humbled. the heat was too immense. the light was satisfactory. The air sanguine. The life right. Everything exceptional. The heat was formidable. The angle was not my own. The night sky was doomed. The ruin was total. The sky became incandescent. I’d like to be your dearest kin. I’d like the seam to envelop me. My life is the size of a clam. My life is a clean clam. The light becomes more claustrophobic. The border sears the burden. The acuity is grand. The light won’t diminish the night remains decadent. We numbered the stars. All among them. The brightest. The burnished. The bleak. The deleterious. The delicate. The deliberate. The daunted. The destitute. The dervishes. Venus was humbled. the heat was too immense. the light was satisfactory.

other bodies of water

I think back to the water’s flawless underside, deep within the thickets that are heavy with the summer is rich with moss and wild raspberries as I trace our old mill town on a map to know keenly the days: that is where we harvested elderberries. That’s where we stepped gingerly over shards of glass. That’s where you taste metallic. That’s where I remember you know me. That’s where we were reminded, that’s where we remained. That’s where we made vaults of our stories.

The River Cervo rises in its sweet acridity, we know a few bodies of water. That’s where I watched you from the keyhole. I let my weight meet yours, you have three dimples; I can count them we are flung asunder and afield. I have a lot I need to tell you.

break odds

you know this? the word for the living god is justly muted. you know this? where some can keep the womb neat others see ruin. you know this some see the sea torn and others the salt flat. you know this? that the day slopes toward the dawn? you know this? the day duly notes the night’s dear passage. you know this— an isthmus is just a gently— just — i’m passing. you know this, you know this? an isthmus is a bit demure relative to a strait. you know this a lake’s rounded edges often sees red. you know this? a straight passage is only headlong concerning the vantage. you know when the night does not quake because there is nothing to lose? you know when the night remonstrates at the night’s heavenly host? you know fire when the sea skews the just? did you ever divulge a meager supplication? you know this? this when we release a few meek words, words that we’ll say account for prayer? you know this? a single word can lift this. you know this is not a mere kingdom it’s the slight of the just. you know this? when the sun hangs low and orange and you know this? when the host sees salt as a burden and you know a straight line is as straight as the frontier and you remember how we manifested the marsupial needs? you remember when we yearned, sought, and sung? you remember that day, the petty eclipse and the unmade? and you, you remember when we crest with the wave and you remember when we just laugh? when each new night haunts us and you know how we might like the word for the living god. and the justly muted — the lake’s rounded edges often see red and the map is not written and the map was not read and the map is a way when we demarcate the vantage.