Read More: A brief Q&A with Saba Z Husain
Consider the Day
A light washes the garden with the hopefulness
of exchanges,
a blustery wind swings the door open
as if some big-hearted soul
walked in
and fall leaves—drained of life—
rain down from the tree
in continuous celebration,
then huddle on the porch,
or chase
in never-ending circles
until lifted by a small gust,
they separate.
The sky is a mother
gathering turnips and heads of lettuce
in her apron,
and so much depends on
the chalk drawings
under the walkway,
in the creamy yellows and wavy pinks,
and the joy of hopping
between the lines.
When December Runs into a Tree of Gold
the earth smacks of decay though
the sun is blinding,
rendering the leaves
a shade of ginger-lemon.
Save for the glitter of a cobweb
in the branches, or the buzz
of an inadvertent fly,
wood chimes mimic eons.
This is how it must feel to die. […]
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The Reluctant Mourner
Sometimes the dead choose us
as we stand on the sidelines,
hesitant to give ear to the gaping mouth.
We follow the cavalcade of blinking lights,
wipers swipe,
we brush away tears.
The fixation on the form being lowered to the ground,
the protrusion of a heel from the shroud, […]
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Saba Z Husain was a finalist for the 2020 X.J. Kennedy Poetry Prize, and semifinalist for the 2020 Philip Levine Prize and Gulf Coast Prize for Poetry. Her work has appeared in several anthologies and journals including Bellevue Review, Barrow Street, Bangalore Review, Cimarron Review, Texas Review, Dallas Review, Natural Bridge, Glass Poetry and elsewhere. Saba studied Creative Writing at University of Houston.
Read More: A brief Q&A with Saba Z Husain