by Samy Sabh
I take my morning over-easy on
top a heap of hashed meat. She takes
hers sunny-side up with a happy
faced banana pancake, sliding the
sliced banana pieces from
to a frown.
She says- This is how I’ve felt, Sam.
I say- Let’s commence the patching process,
Fix it up—talk it out—stitch the wound
She says- and kid ourselves?
I say- ourselves is just kids.
You’re so breakfast for dinner
so unabashedly unabashed
You’re so dirty soap
so naughty tongue with a
Oh, we’re cookin’ now.
You’re so numb feet
so natural disaster
so flash flood of endorphins
leaving Katrina lookin’ like a
You’re so heavy sedative
so rug burned knees with denim
caught around the ankles like a
hog-tied damsel moaning on the
train tracks; Save me!
I can’t feel my feet
I can’t feel my feet
but god damn is it ever time to run.
Oh sweet spoonful! I’ve missed you
and your catastrophes
but I fear that I am no longer the
crafty bandit that saves you
in the nick of time
I am the barreling locomotive
with roaring momentum; treacherous
Remember that time
we jumped from the plane
Pulled our parachutes a
thousand feet too late for
that extra moment of free fall?
I miss the danger
That narrow thread
You’re so mood ring
You’re so wrong about yourself
If there is one thing that I wish
I could assure you, it would be this-
I will work ceaselessly to ensure that when you die
It will be on a mattress of thunderous orgasms
And silver dollars. I will carry you down a hallway
Lined with daisy-chains and remorse and I will sing
I’ll give you today if you give me tomorrow
I’ll give you twenty years if you give me twenty that follow.
And people will say
She was loved. She was loved good and hard.
And then they will cry, as they have never been loved
And so hard.
But I can’t-
I can’t promise you this because I am the locomotive with barreling momentum.
Then let’s kid ourselves
As ourselves—just kids.
And then I agree.
Samy Sabh is is sometimes withdrawn as a modest observer and other times is mouthy and rather abrasive. He is a lover of many things and despiser of many things. He is a dedicated musician, a dedicated poet, and a mildly sedated undergrad that eats cold pizza for breakfast and has an endless fear of the future. His work is of sweeping landscapes, Golden Retrievers, and sex.
N/A is currently accepting submissions for Issue Three: Entertainment.
Submission guidelines: we accept poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction submissions. Multi-genre submissions are accepted. For poetry, up to five poems, no more than 100 lines in length. For fiction and nonfiction, only one piece per submission, no more than 15 pages in length. SUBMIT ALL WORK TO: NALiteraryMagazine@gmail.com by AUGUST 17TH.