THREE POEMS by MAHALIA SOBHANI
This Is How You Die in Wisconsin
You shrivel to death holding a door, waiting
for the other guy to say goodbye,
waiting for the weather to turn, the mosquitoes
to scatter. You die on the shore of a lake sulfuric,
waiting for the fish to bite. You die on your feet,
in your boots. You die with one more tupperware
still in the fridge, the legislature in deadlock. You die
waiting for your mom to say she’s sorry, your dad to say he’s proud.
Two little girls here stabbed their friend in the woods
but she didn’t die because that is not
how you die in Wisconsin.
You don’t really die of a feeling like that—expressed,
however sharply. In Wisconsin you die waiting.
A few small beers
after Benicio del Toro’s line reading in One Battle After Another (2025)And what’s the point, anyway,
what’s it all really for,
the masters degree, the sleep study,
the new meditation routine and the affirmations,
long walks to the lake and music at a certain BPM,
all the SPF and retinol and preventative botox,
the fiber and protein and magnesium and ashwagandha,
the community workshop on knowing your rights and the mutual funds and the HYSA,
the downwardly mobile intellectual bohemian class,
the hot take, the lukewarm joint,
the halfbaked opinion and the roommate’s banana bread—
What’s it all for, really, what’s the point,
except to see the ones you love and have a few small beers?
Barter System
A child’s bloody tooth
in my palm. My sister’s hair
in my fingers, twining, braiding,
crying. How to measure
the tensile strength of trust—something that, like yarn, holds
itself together. How to move from two to one.
If I give you my fingernails, will you think I’m weird?
If I give you a poem, will you tell me a story?
(The poem is my heart, a kiss, a tooth, my time.)
Tell me a story and make it a good one,
with swashbucklers & fresh bread, redemption & faith,
something I can laugh and cry and fall asleep to,
my love a tooth in the palm of your hand.
Mahalia Sobhani (she/her) is a writer and social worker living in Chicago. She likes to visit the lake to make sure it's still there. Her work can be found in HAD magazine, Vagabond City, The Oakland Arts Review, and the first BULLSHIT LIT anthology. You can find her on Twitter @zablamia.