COREY QURESHI
nails
pulling out
a long nail
pressed into my
sole is quiet a
little wet a
little wince
what is pain
but a noise you
make and feel the
echoed throbs of. a
moment becomes a
memory becomes
more broken up
over the course
of an interval , and
the weight of it
varies. pain isnt
associative , leave
it at the mark
it was born on
if you can
do not carry
everything that
ever happened
to you, youll get
stuck with debris in
your sole. i'm
running to
whatever i don't
know about in
hopes of relief.
you know someone
however many
months then
theyre gone
for good. a memory
a moment an
interval.
i dont know
where youre
going next year.
couldntve
guessed the
constant tension
in my forearms
but its here
without indication
of relief. i need my
hands more than
other people that
are going to go
can't carry them
around after the
fact, my nails
are too short ,
they don’t
grip well ,
they havent been
clipped in so long
and now am
wondering what's
going on.
the lengths
of other things
I’m responsible for
are variable ,
quiet , sometimes
a slow agony ,
wonderful or
excruciating.
when i pushed in the
skin around the
nail , there was
sensation , pulled , red ,
winced, carefully tossed
it off where
this wouldn't happen
again till the future
stretched groans
of the room
lightly rattle everything,
rolling the nail back
to a pose that
anticipates my steps
––––
Corey Qureshi is a writer, musician, and parent based in Philadelphia. His prose, poetry, and art reviews have been featured in several print and digital publications, including BOXX Press, his publishing project. He wrote and published the booklets TRYING (Bottlecap Press, 2023) and WHAT YOU WANT (Dead Mall Press, 2023).