Shellac
Cicadas sing:
The world doesn’t want us! Nobody wants us!
I thought chewing felt the same.
I am finding myself to be stranger and more fragile, like a dog that bites first.
Bad dog
Bad god
blame falls on the child that runs from home
Bad country
the abundance of captive roads
World
folded cranes, useless, go on top of the roof.
We are low on lilac paint.
Our teeth are breaking from pressure—
the way anger keeps one silent
and God insists,
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWhat is it?
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWhat is it?
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWhat is it?
Schisms
Birds are mumbling at the sun.
Someone remembers how to fall in love and wind gusts.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤThis is for the tiring age exchanging one capacity for another.
There’s a family that gives and one that takes and don’t tell me about balance.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤThis is the righteous thing.
Speaking as if there’s a listening. Across a canvas a caricature hops
or a creature. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤYour guess as good as mine.
A sticky slouch and a mug—is there anything you haven’t heard about
modernity—but a breath
between hiccups is still a breath and you’re still here, intently pretending.
My guess as good as yours. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤA woman on a crosswalk selling flowers
Madina Tuhbatullina is a poet from Turkmenistan, whose work has been published or is forthcoming in New American Writing, Indianapolis Review, Fourth River, and elsewhere. Her poetry collection Tender Knots was named a finalist for the Black Lawrence Press Immigrant Writing Series. Madina holds a Creative Writing MFA from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas.