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Poetry by Neiha Lasharie

bad lungs

my mother gave me her height and not her asthma
            at the time that must have been selfless but look at me
mamma i don’t have the room to breathe anyway
 
you gave me all but one inch of your five foot nothing
            what was in that inch you wanted to save me from?
my lungs are fine my septum straight why can’t i
 
breathe in out wax wane i am drowning is the moon full tonight?
            i can’t see past the vast expanse of my arm and the scars have faded
too much too quick and my nails feel sharp and generous today
 
the ones i love most can’t breathe either but they have reasons
            i am a fish in the sea and the sea is all space and my throat is too
fragile and it shatters itself against the starsilt and moonsalt
 
mamma you were kind but my heart is not in this breathlessness
            i would rather your lungs than my own unscathed ones - at least
i’d choke on lungs that have always loved me.

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Neiha Lasharie is a Pakistani Muslim woman at the cusp of graduating with a BA in Political Science and International Affairs. She writes and reads as a way to make sense of the world and her place in it - both efforts are a work in progress. She is currently conducting original research on sex trafficking and the Mediterranean migrant "crisis." When not panicking about her visa status(es) or how many more degrees she wants, she calls Boston home.
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