I dug my fingers deep
in a mulch bed.
This was where I first
began to dream.
My mother would let
the sun dip low
before she called me in,
sent me straight to the sink
to wash dark matter
from my nails and hands
like I had scratched away
the sky on nights
I couldn’t find the moon.
These are the parts of me
I notice when you run
out the front door
on the warmest winter day,
when you stand at the border
of mulch beds, circle
the trees with your arms.
I want to take you
by your shoulders, say
catch this now
catch this fast
get your clothes dirty
and dig up every worm.
I want to say
I miss the way my mother
looked at me
when the day was over
when water was boiling
in a roll on the stove
when time together started
when my hands were dry
and clean.
Author Bio:
Yasmin Mariam Kloth has been keeping journals and scribbling lines of poetry since she was eight years old. Her greatest inspiration is her five-year-old daughter, whose questions open an infinite number of doors into imaginative and creative worlds. Born in the U.S. as a first generation child to Middle Eastern parents, Yasmin’s poetry and creative non-fiction scratches at love, loss, place, and space, with a focus on exploring her heritage. An emerging writer, her work has appeared in literary outlets such as Gravel, West Texas Literary Review, JuxtaProse, O:JA&L, Willawaw Journal, Rockvale Review, and others. A yogi at heart, when she’s not writing or working, you can find her standing on her head. Yasmin lives in Cincinnati, OH with her husband and daughter.
in a mulch bed.
This was where I first
began to dream.
My mother would let
the sun dip low
before she called me in,
sent me straight to the sink
to wash dark matter
from my nails and hands
like I had scratched away
the sky on nights
I couldn’t find the moon.
These are the parts of me
I notice when you run
out the front door
on the warmest winter day,
when you stand at the border
of mulch beds, circle
the trees with your arms.
I want to take you
by your shoulders, say
catch this now
catch this fast
get your clothes dirty
and dig up every worm.
I want to say
I miss the way my mother
looked at me
when the day was over
when water was boiling
in a roll on the stove
when time together started
when my hands were dry
and clean.
Author Bio:
Yasmin Mariam Kloth has been keeping journals and scribbling lines of poetry since she was eight years old. Her greatest inspiration is her five-year-old daughter, whose questions open an infinite number of doors into imaginative and creative worlds. Born in the U.S. as a first generation child to Middle Eastern parents, Yasmin’s poetry and creative non-fiction scratches at love, loss, place, and space, with a focus on exploring her heritage. An emerging writer, her work has appeared in literary outlets such as Gravel, West Texas Literary Review, JuxtaProse, O:JA&L, Willawaw Journal, Rockvale Review, and others. A yogi at heart, when she’s not writing or working, you can find her standing on her head. Yasmin lives in Cincinnati, OH with her husband and daughter.
RSS Feed