Two Poems | Mina Khan
This afternoon, I listened
cows churning against steel.
a tin roof, slipping and
The dirt. It stinks of ground meat.
Today I passed the dirt tracks your car dug in the driveway by the tree. the one that looks like a lightbulb that bubbles purple with spring.
and kept walking.
Sometimes, I glimpse that car:
: skin peeling silver
: Massachusetts license plate pale yellow and red text
: tinfoil crumpled into the dent of a tree
: somewhere in rural Connecticut
: a street named Beer Hill Rd.
It was an accident, it was an accident
but (I know)
what it is to look at a road where a car would be,
glance at a tree,
Mina Khan is the author of the chapbook, MON-- (monuments, monarchs & monsters) (Sputnik & Fizzle 2020). Their writing delves into anger as an act of protest, mourning, and collective healing. A queer Korean-Pakistani first-generation American, they write into patterns of grief and maternal subjugation. They are the recipient of the Olin Fellowship and the Reed Prize, and have been published in several journals, such as Five:2:One and decomP magazinE. They recently completed their BA at Wesleyan University and are returning to their hometown of NYC to begin their MFA at Columbia University.