Poetry by Hannah Nahar

“dead weight” by Beaumont Sugar / Beaumont Sugar


I create quiet in the system I am too large for—
all the voices shut like doors.

I am busy waiting in a long line full of hands.
I am deciding what to wait for next.

Each single thing is too hot.
Each burns my tongue.
My neutral body might someday be a specific angel, maybe to a nonbeliever.

Baby, please select the cavity of your choice.

The world doesn’t open without smashing. Only boxes do.
Kissing is smashing open boxes together.
As a concept, kissing is totally unhinged.

In the middle of kissing, I make a decision about it.
(My eyes open, my eyes close). At every stage I will proceed
to make a decision about each someone old and new.

I understand I’m a bit overeager,
with all my gathered clocks, maps, and devices.

The system is spring: the season is nervous grass and nervous flowers, nervous everything
the video harvested. Shaking bluster. All the attempts to capture the middles.

Is the world a box of ordered molecular motion?

My cursory google search is overexplanatory:
the measure of thermal energy unavailable for doing useful work.

I am / you are too large for any system.

Just watch the distance pass on a map.

Do you have an argument as you step into the current?



Starlings turn the sky
into cut paper and still
it does not fall. They repeat
themselves, etching shapes.
I would like to press the jagged edges
of each outline, push them
out so they spill down
to me. All my stories
have fallen out of my head.

Hannah Nahar is a queer Jewish writer and current MFA student at The Ohio State University, where they teach writing and work on the staff of The Journal. Hannah’s work can be found in Passages North, Electric Literature, and Necessary Fiction, among other places. They like being quiet and being loud.