New | Poetry | Shlagha Borah

উম

bird mom/mom bird

her nestlings

nesting

resting

until we came with spears

Joy

Sunflower clouds 

hiding         seeking

the blue 

getting blue-er but not darker. 

feet crossing tiles, two 

at times three. 

Birds. Can you hear the birds? 

I’ve never heard a kopou sing 

in Manhattan. I know, I know. 

We’re not in Manhattan. 

It sure feels so, though. 

children/ cotton candy - pink, fluffy. Dancing 

mullets in the paella. Rice marrying broth. 

umbrella tucked behind the wooden chair. 

I won’t let it rain. 

Holiday/Home

fleeting, floating

waves gently 

cleanse, with might 

to sweep the unguarded

sitting mid beach-

arms, thighs, chest, mouth

crumbly singing along; 

music reaches from everywhere

child munching,

waves crashing;

who’s to discriminate

crab kings dance 

wind washes the sand 

so the child can draw again

trusting the sea, praying

it won’t consume me

when I’m asleep

Postlude

how long were you in there? how long before your tongue snipped? have they kept the stool away? which shirt were you wearing? how does the pyre react to skin? what melts first — eyes or hair? did you think of me? what would you have done differently? what would I? what was the last tune you whistled? if you had one more breath, which tune would you whistle? what would you say? what was your last word? what was your first? was your last breath an exhale or an inhale? what hurts more– not knowing your birthmother, flushing Benzodiazepines or dismissal? what are you now– ash, smoke or light? do you visit as thunder or rain? did you know that a budweiser can you once touched and my lover’s cat sleep under the same soil? how much do the dead know? can I stop you from becoming history if I talk about you in the present tense? can tense turn time?