Lit Mags
God Said Let There Be Light & I Said No Thanks
Two poems by Hannah Nahar
God Said Let There Be Light & I Said No Thanks
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God Said Let There Be Light & I Said No Thanks
I have a headache, though with the SAD lamp’s magic glow and all, I receive it like a gift. opening my palms for that hollow shock of recognition: the familiar whine of too much, too bright. what’s artificial? which rays will hurt me most? sitting on a stool in the bookstore, looking up at the artfully caged bulbs standing in line at the grocery store, the CVS all the string lights flicker, all these people wearing their own respective underwear & all these hands holding things tasting their own leftover mouths.
Keep & Touch
I got lost so much today, looping in circuits of dark streets, my maps and various brains clogging up with the faster and slower routes. My frozen phone pushed me over the edge. I passed an ER and felt urged to enter all, excuse me, I have an emergency, I need to use your wifi. I’m tired of walking down all these narratives! Sometimes I want to sit around all day and describe things. Legs parallel to the blue. Buildings rising up to reach the nightclouds who resist the turn from day. The heart not a heart, but a clot stuck pulsing through a chest full of bone & wind, breathing as if the body were not predetermined to end.
