I had never seen a squirrel
hug the earth as if its life
depends on it, or a tree
to be so in love with autumn
to borrow the red leaf of another.
I stop recording my voice
and let the silence take over.
Hidden trinkets:
sound of crickets,
tiny splashes, wind,
flapping of a Pelican
for your walk back home
among Plane trees of Valiasr Avenue.
But last time they held your gaze,
a motorcycle rider pulled your phone
out of your hand,
all my syllables and sounds
spilled into the brook
until you jumped
over the curb, broke
the connection, his grip.
One hand in your pocket
-looking left and right-
one on your scarf,
-there’s more of them
since Mahsa’s memorial-
rushing every step.
You won’t hear my message
until you get to your apartment.
Maybe I should walk back home,
keep my head down
and for once in my life
write about something that matters
but all these Ash seeds
beneath my daisy covered shoes
used to fly.
Like this
Can you hear this one?
Sarvin Parviz (she/her) is an interdisciplinary artist, writer, poet, playwright and librettist from Tehran. Her work has appeared in Roi Fainéant Literary Press, The Indianapolis Review, Apple Valley Review and Broadkill Review among others. In 2024, She won the Graduate and Professional Council Award in Creative Activities for her transmedia-storytelling project. Her passion for singing has continued after leaving her training as an opera singer. Currently, she is working on her first opera at Guerilla Opera Writing Collective. Parviz is an MFA student at Southern Illinois University Carbondale where she’s working on her first book.