The fall [poem]

my father-like fingers, hands
protruding veins, short nails, tips
red, holding, entangling in
pushing aside you sweaty hair
colored like a taupe rabbit
soft like an underbelly
quick to cut, to bleed
my mother’s mouth, lips wet, warm
whispering breath, apology song, tears
on your face, now quivering
bruised from the bang on
marble floor, your head
throbbing, turning blue, growing
in the quiet aftermath

jaisalmer fort, rajasthan india // march 2019

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s