five poems
by A.A. Zatarian
Humil[d]ity
Concerned with the
perception of others.
Abyssal plane.
Keeping standards
not expectations.
Rain that lasts
the duration of a cigarette
then passes over.
The angels of life
unwelcome here
where death visits often
wearing boots that fit wrong
until unevenly worn correctly.
Mosaic of smashed glass
swept between the cracks.
Everyone smelling of
vinegar on the bus.
Helicopters, mourning doves.
The culling desert where
church bells are only heard
in the morning.
Solitaire
Experience limerence with utopia.
Knowing perfection chafes and bores.
Only good at imitation, creation is just a myth.
Readjust to lack. Dopamine rush.
All unused machines stacked in corners.
Sometimes the lead planes fly too low,
their sharp shadows projected too large.
Weeks don’t end. Spillover into the next.
Acrid smell of petunias and cleaning
products masquerading as cologne.
My old friend’s brother was his deck hand.
The catch and release of fishermen.
To be with the delicacy deserving. Hard
to remember, not easy to forget.
Gather them together after they’ve been
extinguished, fruiting bodies of decomposition.
Slender cactus growing in mesquite shade
removed from the routine rhythms of life.
Feel nothing until the next day and it's unpleasant.
A wall of clouds like mountains.
Scrying
We passed the mirror back and forth
exchanging ugly reflections,
taking turns
smelling ourselves
through a dollar bill.
Conversation’s contents lost
once the effects had worn off.
Mistook the garbage truck for the bus.
Saw a mylar balloon lost to the sky,
made me think of you.
Wasting cake
in over indulgence.
A sticky film, artificial sweetener.
Can’t stomach a simulacrum.
Mimetic Desire
Four black dogs fight
over scraps of affection.
The spider on an invisible thread.
The same fake music looped.
Reheated coffee,
rerolled cigarettes.
Dirty jeans that smell like money.
Cotton rag wadded up
sweated on and reused.
Sweated on and reused
cotton rag wadded up,
dirty jeans that smell like money.
Rerolled cigarettes,
reheated coffee.
The same fake music looped.
The spider on an invisible thread.
Over scraps of affection
four black dogs fight.
Somewhere in the Organic Sector
Messes that stay undisturbed. The room
left big without an upright bass. Filling the corner,
sleep paralysis demon. Hacked awake,
a coughing dog. Out-of-key chicken scratch.
Serenaded sickly sweat. Replace anything
sharing the same meter with another melody
the same arithmetic. Didn’t pick
the spare change out of the dirt pile
in a penny shortage, as they change
the symbolism on a dime.
Water from a clear glass.
Rain dripping from the brim…
Red winter hat hung makeshift lampshade,
a better use in the heat of all year.
Hoping to not thinking about missing it.
Image for A.A. Zatarian
BIO: A.A. Zatarian (she/her/hers) is a Mexican-American poet and visual artist. After traveling North America for over fifteen years A.A. Zatarian is currently based in Tucson, Arizona while studying English at the University of Arizona. Her collection of travel poetry “Road Soda” was the March 2026 zine feature for Strangers in a Tangled Wilderness.