What’s it mean, to sit?
My sit quits me twenty hours
in the day til the sunset pours
like sugar from my mouth, I’m a horse
and the bit
has been took from my teeth It
does not hurt Just—sours
I only speak in my sleep, like all cowards.
What would it mean
to wake
dead
from a dream?
A big shake quaking
a crater in my bed
About the Author
Noor Al-Sammarai · University of California, Berkeley
Noor Al-Samarrai is a California native with Mesopotamian roots who loves to spend her spare time flaneuring and randonneuring about the Bay area. She studies political economy at UC Berkeley, where she runs weekly poetry workshops and is managing editor of the Berkeley Poetry Review. Her poem first appeared in CLAM.
About the Artist
Margaret Montague · University of Virginia
Margaret Montague graduated with a double major in religious studies and photography. She works for a health care consulting company in Washington, DC, and enjoys drinking coffee while listening to other people’s stories. Her artwork first appeared in Virginia Literary Review.
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