Four Poems

By Babak Lakghomi



Where I Work


On the first floor

robots and humans work together

On the second floor

only humans

stare at their screens

wait for five o’clock to arrive

they have lawns to mow

leaves to blow

Some of them have kids



The Year of Fear


In the year of fear

my grandmother lost her memories

to the shadows of missiles

over the fallen mulberry trees

my mother burned her manuscripts

Men in black moved their machetes above their heads

and chanted

a little boy scratched the skin of his head

for a sign of blood

We were born

fearing shadows,

stray dogs,

We were born fearing

deep waters

And have been waiting since

for the fear to fade away



The Barn


I remember

the names of cities and streets

moving from one to another

Sometimes I don’t remember where I am

but I remember

the wallpapers on a wall

the texture of a wool rug

the rug was worth more the older it seemed

To wear it down

My father wrestled with me on it

The rug smelled of sheep

I felt its rough skin against mine

My father’s fat fingers

wrapping around me

the room became a barn

in the cold winter night



The Thirteenth Day of Spring


There is a house

that I still see in my dreams

where my mother left a plate of fruits

behind my bedroom door

and knocked

I never opened the door right away

I wonder how it all seems far

Is there a door that I can open now?

I left work today after everybody else

My car alone

in the empty lot

I drove through dewy farms

and run-down factories

The wind shook

the bare branches of trees

A friend called to say

she’d had another panic attack

It was the thirteenth day of spring

my mailbox was empty


Babak Lakghomi is the author of Floating Notes (Tyrant Books, 2018). His writing has appeared in NOON, New York Tyrant, Egress, and Green Mountains Review among other places.

One response to “Four Poems”

  1. Naser says:

    How beautiful poems!

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