Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
She let me sleep in her kitchen
on two lino-covered chairs, then
on her porch, then in her bed.
I sensed the thousand threads
of her Holland sheet under me.
A cricket kept me awake all night
while she moved beside me
imperceptibly, like a swimmer
negotiating the long swell of a dream.
At midnight it rained and I thought,
is it possible, Corona
will still be familiar?
Once a finger of light
streaked across the ceiling
but I knew it means nothing.
When dawn entered that room
sideways like a gimpy cat,
I was no longer I, just me,
she was you, but the cricket
insisted in that dry click-voice
it saves for the brief days.
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