I want to go
like things that don’t come back;
Like daughters coming out of their mothers
and sons out of their fathers.
A light that runs towards electrification.
I tie my cramps
and peep from dreams
which will not wake up.
I want to be the creator by giving birth to a clot,
drop
by drop
to get some air to my veins;
And give my mother Alzheimer’s medicine;
And with electric soldiers
straighten my nine-month bulge;
And bring a woman to modernity;
And decrease her identity
into four protrusions.
I want to go
like things that do not come back.
With mass graves
and letters thrown from the cleft of the lips,
I want to go.
Like you;
Like things that do not come back!

Sahra Kalantari