Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
Even when they begin
to bruise beneath
thumbs go yellow
tickle nostrils
when a tribe
of flies has hummed itself
high off their fumes, she throws
nothing.
She peels the blemished
skin, halves the soft
flesh, scoops the pink
cores and knives
the seeds out. In the pot
syrup kisses
the wedges, a bubbling
embrace of sugar warming up
to sugar, breaking each
other down
to delectable mush.
A fruit turns a life
splits
in the sun
becomes elemental
carbon. The house stinks of this
decomposing, of aborted
diplomas, of wombs
waning from the heat, quick
haircuts to save up
on lice shampoo.
She teaches us how
to slow
the decay, to grow
in shared skin, and small
spaces, sweeten days
in osmotic exchanges, how
to live on a stomach full
of scarce sky, how
to build a home
in an avalanche,
on dust clouds, how
to coddle November
in paisleys, how
to brew a new
summer from the last
sprigs of shriveled mint, how
to keep turning
guavas
to make jam.
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