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Hexagonal Miracle by Moheb Asimi


by Annika Gangopadhyay

Cracks in the plaster bloom

like folds on the dress my grandmother


last touched. The satin sags in the closet–

books and clothes embrace dust


in burial as the room sighs, you

have forgotten. Here is the irony


of a breathing tomb: I shrug dead

twigs off my shoulders and watch


morning hang magnolias on the window

pane as forbidden fruit. To pry open


a life I cannot love for a pastime long

euthanized is imbibing twigs in a bathtub,


as if a grandmother’s laugh could flare

into pleats and turn plaster to gold. The closet


wilts come sunset and in reassurance, I nod,

it looks better this way. Let the softness


rest on elbows in the dark–close the guilt,

leave the souvenirs with satisfaction. The


dusk looks better as a painting

etched in plaster, and I frame it with


the sagging dress. We laugh this way;

the black petals and I compressed


into four corners; let the morning

excavate us again as a snapdragon


without fangs, so pink that you could

touch it. My grandmother and I


pruned on the hardwood, we sag

below the closet,


forgotten in blooming.


About the Writer...

Annika is a young writer from the Bay Area. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in LIGEIA, The Incandescent Review, Blue Marble Review, and the borderline. She enjoys performing music in her spare time.

About the Artist...

Moheb Asimi is a Junior attending the Savannah Arts Academy High School. He's been drawing and expanding his skillset with different materials for about 2-3 years -- a few months before he entered the school for his freshman year.

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