Five Poems by Nooks Krannie


Art by Nooks Krannie

scrn pl a

she left the stairs in a panic. her back was almost parallel to his face and sky.

they’ve fucked before in a language, she said, the translator came into the sea fm. metals, bitter witches covered their faces in wolf songs. in his hands? she smiled and metals fell on his runn’in, nike uh. shying, crawled under dirty skin for the remainder of 140 characters. her lungs cracked, her face grew beyond her forehead. he kept his hand under her skin till they were both airless.

his chin is a blur. i broke countless graphite filling in the dirt of her hair. my film project is a secondary character in dislike for corn and animus.


catch me if you can and you’re a statue. when i was 12 years old, someone asked me if every person around me was an individual. i tried my best and said yes. she asked me again and my heart raced. i committed to the yes and she walked away, careful to not shake her head. i doubt my speech, sound and prose. i once hid behind an adult and their body was not enough to cover me. my heart races often, loudly and i let it out of habit.


stretched velvet on your grandma’s sofa, i remember being arrested, pushed against the wall. we hadn’t hit puberty yet and you were holding my hands behind my back, you learned that from the awful cop shows your grandma watched. that time when my face was ripe in saliva, i looked on my side and could see the kitchen cabinet swaying up and down, as if breathing so i didn’t have to. my face was a grease bed, flat without tenderness. you were shouting gibberish and i thought about how we looked through your brother’s medical text book once and giggled at all the pictures of human frailty.

lsh gd

becoming the face of a hole of / a face of u / i’m dead in winter like spiders / i’m stains / of tar in your mother’s phone / filling in a galaxy inside my throat / she’s asking about butter / & crabs / boiled in perpetual screams / someone’s child is knocking on my knee and / and now there’s a scab on / my knee & a single hair / my face is a hole / and the fucking kid didn’t even have teeth / like who the fuck lets a kid with no teeth touch a stranger’s knee? /

bring forth a bucket / fill it
with a green body / ur mom’s samsung w/ xtra gb
there’s wood growing under my hand /
the cupboard of my childhood is a termite haven / filled / with micro holes
& church faces / of a lush god.

mgc y’no

bicycles around a graveyard are this century’s lanterns. blue vomit of cold, stuck under my feet. we moved from apartment to apartment in search of freezers with ice makers, your tongue was miserable in russia and you saw it through 4k. the fight’s strong. we’re over but so what. fight, fight, we’re three buildings apart. fight’s not over. you let go of the bike and i fell. i fell into a bed of skin and cat hair, i tasted copper in my mouth and it destroyed every crown that every back alley doctor gave me. spit and chew and spit right here.

i’m scared of nail clippings and shower gels with almond essence. when i was a baby, an adult was told i was allergic to peanuts which turned out to be a lie. i’m holding a vigil for my soft death on west street, right by the thai restaurant where i would’ve died if i was still a baby. and allergic. magic grownups. all is forgiven after death. we make horses blind for our safety, we control, magic in full hands. but all is forgiven if you die. you know.

moons in bakery shops is the world we live in. sweet, sugar and a math problem. plastic on bicycles doesn’t last, like us, two. like. we spit and chew and fight, here and everywhere in erosion.

Nooks Krannie is a Palestinian/Persian female writer from Montreal, Canada. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks, “I have hard feelings & I wish I could quit chocolate” (Moloko House Press, 2016) and “candied pussy” (Thistlemilk Press, 2017). Insta: @nookskrannie

Two Prose Poems by Nooks Krannie


in / and around old montreal

wooden. painted soft swing set, i cushioned my behind to devour crisp animals. the large window spoke of a cold parking meter and i face the notre-dame. a girl with one sleeve sweater jumps in front and motions for my mouth, dripping with outer layer of skin and lard. i’m shocked at the tight gulp in her throat, protruding, sucking the veins to a russet / in nude. her face is a maroon five pixel. i leave an extra 60 cents on a napkin for a by far superior chimichurri.

on a colder afternoon, the sun left without a high, i’m jumping on broken stones and flowers grow on my head. i touch them and i can feel the cozy holes meant to spread warmth to body. my first espresso made me a liar when i smiled and tasted dirt for money.

my hair grows in charcoals of swede and hollow mice. i wash out my face in automatic flash with an option to print later. a sheer woman from tunisia cuts my hair, she asks me my history in my mother’s tongue and i have nothing of it.

best poutine in best ceramic, says brown / pink / red / white man. je suis perdu. snow is the best season in best places, says the mannequin of foam and a cat’s name. je suis perdu. is the best place for help and transport of live bodies. 12am wig shopping next to lozeau. i buy double yellow irises for every commute, nothing is strange or you in a home like place.


u know world is shit when people don’t return frm hell

i watered my first plant when i broke my mother’s trust. she said never go
to vegas. my thighs are bigger than otc drugs needed for a stable vagina. i’m
sweet in crisis. my best friend got married nd i said bro sleep is a luxury for
out of control bad pool water. i’m fitting in a wasted minute for creeping up
i feel shame every time i need to ask something.


Nooks Krannie is a Palestinian/Persian female writer from Montreal, Canada. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks, “I have hard feelings & I wish I could quit chocolate” (Moloko House Press, 2016) and “candied pussy” (Thistlemilk Press, 2017). Insta: @nookskrannie