* * *
The Fatal Flight
The pigeon mistook the glass for the sky
rocketing energy hit the window—
______________the shock was mute.
flopped on the terrazzo floor blue and polished to mirror the sky.
I looked up briefly from this poem to the flutter
Did not know
anything could be so silent in pain—
_____________a hunched gray cloud.
Imploding cells patterned by hands unlike mine
palm-sized god in every feather.
* * *
I picked sparrows from the hair,
hoops of energy one after another warmed
my palms—memories sewed
in feathers. Along the rib the reinforcement
failed, hem unraveled,
excavated stories in the wads of flesh
pulpy like the inside of a fish split
into half. The mind rambled away never
to return, dribbled words in the yard
where I snipped a banana stem.
The gash on the wrist did not bleed
but glazed over like a crystal of alum muddy
with sediments dredged out when I combed
the marsh for bones to bolster the tissue.
* * *
Uma Gowrishankar is a writer and artist from Chennai, South India. Her poems have appeared in online and print journals that include Poetry at Sangam, City: A Journal Of South Asian Literature, Qarrtsiluni, Vayavya, Hibiscus: Poems that Heal and Empower, Shimmer Spring, Buddhist Poetry Review, Silver Birch Press, Feral: A Journal of Poetry and Art, Curio Poetry. Her full-length collection of poetry Birthing History was published by Leaky Boot Press.
featured photo by Uma Gowrishankar