#poetryblr

abrighterspark:

“distance makes the heart grow fonder”

has always been a lie…

distance makes the heart grow weary

of waiting on replies

when i opened my eyes,
the walls dripped red &
blue blood revenge

when i opened my eyes,
the light of your dark was
yellow sunshine, golden

when i opened my eyes,
you were empty handed,
empty hearted

when i opened my eyes,
i wished to close them,
tightly.

let me stay,

dancing like fae among flowers

lost to the breeze

and summer sun-showers

pick me apart until i’m nothing but crushed daisies on a sidewalk,

until i’m dreams dashed on the pavement.

pick me apart, love…

pull at my seams,

drag on my soul,

weigh down my world with your burdens.

i will wear them til i drown,

and meet your diligence with my own.

so pick me apart, my love…

and i will hold my fragments in open palms for your perusal

until you take them, with pleasure,

your promises a riot on my heart…

your neglect, the rot i should’ve scented from the start

the sun sets;

and earth meets moon

it rises, and the tides rise too

in awe, they stare

silenced by the other’s beauty

interrupted by daylight

before they ever exchange a word

dusk turns to dawn

and we trip over our hearts in the dark

collecting them…

weighing them

knowing we might grow apart

but hoping our love will last

on days i don’t imagine much

i try to manage to imagine paradise

and that’s enough

to make my own magic

snow never comes early down south
if luck kisses our brow maybe
an inch near the Epiphany
those days we huddle near the windows
wrapped in wool and hot cocoa
baklava bleeding honey, our eyes
nailed to the fences watching cardinals
red wings flapping like poinsettia petals
a warm breath on a chilled grey sky.

-baklava, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

when the monsoon came
she cursed. She had been asking
those folks in the co-op
twiddling their thumbs and licking
the edges of their rupee notes
from the maintenance bills,
she’d ask them
to repair the terrace aching
and wheezing with water
from the early drizzles but
the treasurer preferred a Kashmir scarf
and the chairman a new scooter,
secretary painted his living room and added twenty rupees
for a samosa for the loyal watchman
and so she slept beneath flickering lights
hoping the wires didn’t blaze up,
consuming her whole.

-the problem with housing societies, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

wind blistered water
stars collapse into redwood
love the outer ring

-family tree, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

exiledhome:

Our eyes shine
like glass and fishbone licked
clean, fatigued at the
edge of excellence

we crumble African tulips
and little white buds
nameless, I
shook off dew and in dusted heat
our footprints wandered forever

- The Midst of Summer, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

in this scorched, sun-baked season
we prayed for rain
and when it came
summer heat blazed
as if blooming,
polyester chaffed against
cotton, against skin sticky.
we filled our teacups with humidity
and decided the earth
knew itself better
than we.

-rain prayer, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

you ask for sweet lime
scent sour
I carve carefully
the seeds from the nectar
each white pip
tumbles on the floral saucer
as if dragon bones
divining your daily fortune.
I toss them to the crows,
palm-sized sparrows
so somewhere, perhaps
a tree will grow
and those limes
might actually be sweet.

-sweet limes, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

no one tells you
being an immigrant
is being a stallion
front hooves tied knotted
course rope
chaffing at your ankles
holed up in a greener pasture
gnawing at tender leaves
while watching
acres away
those you love
wild and free, wind
whistling against their cheeks,
a throbbing ache to be with them
but knowing you cannot.

-tied, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

overcast
you sit
suck on mango skin
the juice on your chin
drips on
basil leaves,
your hands already wet
before the rain
we watch the yellow mountains
spring back to life
verdant, almost emerald
green foliage tender at the end of summer,
nourished by the dead roots
beneath softened soil.

-end of summer, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

a head of cauliflower
bald
green leaves in a heap,
i slice
each yellowing branch
hair thin.
they tell me threadlike cuts cook better,
taste softer,
the closer it is breaking.

-breaking, Kelsey Ray Banerjee

but did the serpent repent? did he feel grief, or guilt, as the Apple lay rotting in the Garden and Adam and Eve were forced through the gate? did he bow his scaled head and shed a tear for what would now never be?

did the serpent, too, eat of the fruit of knowledge, and find himself overcome with the pain of might-have-been? did he watch as the Eastern Gate slammed shut behind man and woman? did he see God’s heavenly light overhead, burning him as he lay immobile on the soil? did he know, then, that his pain was meant to be penance, or did he wallow still in greed?

did the serpent repent?

—m.j.