Forbidden Wine
by Marco Katz Montiel / February 8th, 2026
Isfahan, appealing to the eye,
A place where family looks out for her,
More alluring still with friends nearby
Who have braved the evening chill to cry
For a more optimistic future.
“Before anyone started chanting,
Sahba was seen collapsed on the ground.”
No one saw, no one was live-streaming.
No one heard any of them screaming.
Shot to death, she died without a sound.
She laughed at her evocative name:
“Sahba means wine . . . I am forbidden.”
If only it had been just a game,
More than her memory would remain
From horrors that should not stay hidden.
Sabha Rashtian from Isfahan,
Aspiring animation artist,
Expiring, she cannot carry on,
But she need not feel so put upon
With so many now at Death’s harvest.
Marco Katz Montiel composes poetry and prose in Spanish, English, and musical notes. He went to college late, and then alienated one university by publishing about bigotry on campus and got kicked to the curb by two others for his union activities. Still, Marco managed to graduate and even publish a book on music and literature with Palgrave. His essays, poems, and stories appear in
Ploughshares,
Jerry Jazz Music,
English Studies in Latin America,
Copihue Poetry,
Camino Real,
WestWard Quarterly,
Lowestoft Chronicle,
Dissident Voice, and in the anthologies
Cartas de desamor y otras adicciones,
There’s No Place, and the
Capital City Press Anthology.
Read other articles by Marco Katz, or
visit Marco Katz's website.
This article was posted on Sunday, February 8th, 2026 at 8:00am and is filed under Poetry.
