Lotte Ahmad Poems

Her hands are pudgy and worn-out.
They've neither known manicures nor special loving care.
Hard work is spelled by the calluses on the back of her right hand.
Hard work and little to no rest.
...

Hold my hand.
Secure my vulnerability in the tightness of your protective fist.
Like even if the world around us came crumbling down,
you would not let it go for a way out of your misery.
...

He goes on bended knees before the King:
A lamb yielding himself to be used as the offering the Father needs for the last sacrifice.
He neither resists nor demands a compensation,
for he knows that he will be a gift freely given
...

'Take these two orange pills and everything will be alright, ' she said to me,
Her voice, a gentle but insistent lull cooling the embers of my dying resistance.
I gave her my abundance,
she gave me an escape.
...

You hold it between the index and the middle.
A god you worship with the deliberate purse of your lips.
A spoken sacrament of belonging that you affirm without speaking a single word.
You inhale the calming smoke into your darkened lungs,
...