Mona Arshi poetry



Ask the stems in the glass to bend. Let
Your fingers fly, a momentary grasp then

slip into spaces, surge in and out of folds
where breasts begin to curve and rise.

Be God. Press your curing skin to mine,
dissolve and pronounce me. Let my eyes

fallout and embed in the carpet, rooting.
Let my hands arrange the air for you,

braiding. Reluctant sun at the window, open
your eyes burn through the dense haze with

your severe love. Slide open the bone-zip of
my spine, anoint each rigid peak. Take my

limbs and fold me over. Here's my mouth,
hummingbird, linger there, and hold
my breath.


[First prize winner of the Magma Magazine poetry competition.]


A selection of Mona's poems