Sign up to our newsletter
I saw a bride splendid in white garmentsI saw a woman with one hundred children The children plump and firm within her arms,But some fell down or strangers took and ate them
That fire, they said, was red as red as redas red as a fox, your lips, a cherry;that fire, they said spread and spread and spread,faster than a cheetah or a nasty rumour;
At swimming once,I went to turn from front to backand just kept turning,just kept turning,turning over,over and over,till the swimming teacher said,
Dada taught me cards.Sitting in his suit of pants and vest.A fistful of joker-red hair strewn across his brow.His big belly like a cannon ball.
Five children clasping mittenscould not hug the entire trunk.Whole hands could hide in the folds of its bark.James, the tallest boy in class,could sit on a root,
Dada has stories from Calcuttawrapped up in his big belly.When he belched they would unravel.
Now we're up on the edge
and over, on the mountain
with mountains beyond. Behind us,
in the dark
of the valley, villages are embers
Your mother made me
just in case, she said,
which kinda freaked me out,
so I said to her,
Da Man is fine, babe.
I am the word juggler.I juggle the wordslike swords.I slice sensewith poetic license.
I feel it, first as a stir,turning deep in the murky water.Surfaces up for air, a twitchon the lake in my head.A flip, and it disappears.