i don’t know what silence smells like. maybe rosebuds or lemon or pine or a father’s cologne. [insert] smell here. [insert] sound [insert] feeling [insert] [insert] [insert] until there’s nothing left. i see you see me without looking up. i see each sound: nails scratch denim, [shift] in seat, dishes clanking & breaths / deeper & deeper. coffee pour, getting quieter becoming / full. i’m supposed to continue writing. even though / brain says stop & words are dry i am supposed to continue / [home] / is this what heaven looks like? just trees & darkness & crisp midnight. should heaven be a feeling or a lack of any (?)[home]
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About the Creator
Sara Khayat
Poetry / Plants / People
MFA Poetry & Fiction
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