Blind Ghazal

Amanda Leigh Lichtenstein

If your future causes shortness of breath,
Visualize your lungs as a sleeping baby.

I was thrown off a horse and landed near a blind, barking dog.
If the eye could speak, it would ask you to forgive.

I climbed an electric tower to watch them arrest my boyfriend.
When they drove away, I realized I was stuck at the top.

In the summertime, ceiling fans spin silent in every room.
If I am very quiet, I can hear my sister talking in Santa Fe.

He slept on the floor. I slept on the bed. The next morning
He asked for a state map, said he wanted possibilities.

If your past causes shortness of breath,
Visualize your heart as a perfect apple.

Amanda Leigh Lichtenstein

Amanda lives in Chicago, IL. Her poetry and creative nonfiction appears in Painted Bride Quarterly, Another Chicago Magazine, Evansville Review, The Comstock Review, Stray Dog, The Pedestal. She teaches poetry and performance in Chicago Public Schools

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