Mehnaz Sahibzada



Red Moon

On my evening walk, I am the girl
with two heads--a schizoid startled
by strangers. My heart leaps like a fish.

A boatman once told me, hate swims
down the spine and becomes a wish.  
Women who elope to storm center,

grow beards and make mistakes.  
I stroke my chin reflexively. The moon
drips swirls of consolations. Still my

mind is a monster of menstruations.
There is a cosmos inside of me that wants
to erupt. I picture my spleen expanding,

my kidneys shooting stars. In the lawn
outside my neighbor’s house,  a rage of roses.
Their thorns like the fangs of a wolf.


Photo Credit: Staff