samiya javed \ winter 2014
* Alexandria The moon hangs low above the Mediterranean. The stray cats play pretend and howl like werewolves. Who knows what troubles them. They dandle the carcasses from their mouths; throw them out to Neptune like offerings. The moon plucks them from the water; plants them in the sky. The cats await their rebirth; anticipate fresh flesh to tear at. It’s repulsive! you scream and before you resume your bed-post assignments the husband waiting with his stash of porn the echo slaps against the waves and comes back, to lie at your feet; dripping, mangled, like truth. * Samiya Javed hails from the majestic land of Hindustan by the accident of birth, but she'd rather you call her a free-spirit. Her work has previously appeared in The Feminist Wire, Lituminati, Literary Yard and Wordweavers. She is a fierce advocate of caffeine, Charles Bukowski and wee-hour poetry sessions. * |