Mohamed Elhassan

a letter to myself: dear,

snow piles when hums of earth ring out,
and from its core bellows the beast—
a lonesome tune reverberates in my ear.

i feed her wholly;

my mother runs a horticultural department,
we profit a lot.
            legumes torn out their stocks and
            wrapping each other in a basket.
            they are now warped.

nihilistic-movers. i was like this once.
stains covered the tattered wear upon my chest,
and in taking it off i reveal an even uglier mess beneath—

they say the devil lives underneath uncut nails,
but they help me to tear open packages easily.
this one’s from my mother:
be kind. do good. here are some fresh veggies. enjoy!

                                                          coveted did that place become;
                                    i rake the leaves outside but some kids whisk ‘em away
                                                                    kicking and running,
                                                                    but i do not get mad;

rarely do i ever escape the comforts of home,
craziness ran rampant on these streets
and my tomatoes still haven’t grown.

            the ground is tickled by my soft touch and i hope
            that earth is receiving my gentleness as it comes—
            kids across the street pull out the dandelions and blow ‘em,
            insemination of sky.


mother passes,
her duties become mine.
i wave bye to george, he is—was—my neighbor.


Mohamed Elhassan is a rising senior at Hammond High School in Columbia, Maryland. His work mainly focuses on personal experiences. He is forthcoming in Eunoia Review and Lucky Jefferson. He enjoys writing for himself, his peers, and those deemed outcasts.

Previous: Esther SunIssue 12 • Next: Courtney LeBlanc