Poems

A Lesson In Love

Love was something you made your parents believe
before you went to bed.

I made a boy chase me,
pedalling faster and faster
in the rain.
Splooshing his thin legs through puddles
I laughed
and later he kissed me.

Love fell from my tongue,
just a word I had heard.
I drew heart-shaped lines
when I was nine. "I love you."
How his face flushed
and his eyes gaped
wide and strained, like dry egg whites.
I was too big for my body.

I haven't learned love.
Hands and lips.
He said love after denting my mattress
and licking my ear.

What did he love?
It was just a word that needed to be heard.
I said it back.
What was I saying?
I was too big for my body.

I said it back

published in A Mother's String by Ekstasis Editions


Kheda

The bamboo trees reaching like jail bars in the jungle, kheda
a place pretending to tame wild things.
I see the giants grazing on palms
a family of prisoners restrained
forgetting their freedom.

This is how we box nature, to make it tidy
and bring across continents like television sets
for viewing.
A section of wild land and ivory
shrunken beneath hot sun.
A depletion in the earth.


* Kheda - an enclosure or corral for the capture of wild elephants

published in A Mother's String by Ekstasis Editions