GloMag August 2016 is here! Happy to to have a poem titled ‘Looking In‘ at page 91. Lots of good friends have sent in their work for this issue. The preface by Robert Klein Engler titled ‘After the end of poetry‘ is a must-read.
“If you say that word’beauty’ one more time, I’m gonna puke” 😆😷
Won’t say it but this one is a b- – – -y of an issue.
Source: GloMag August 2016
The teak door with its brass lock creaks, its lone eye is foggy I lift it up slightly by the hinges and twist the key
A cool morning frisks me benign fingers caressing sore spots The skin still sultry in the aftermath of a humid night trapped between sheets but underneath a vigorous puppy shakes off dew drops
And then eyes appear
I see their whites rolling in the night rain filled coconut cups behind the two tall palms holding the broken swing
They follow me through fragile spider homes on the crisp walk to the stream Their gaze on the mutinous curls loose on my shoulders with silvery webs
Red eyes of a coucal on the well rim follows them and me as silvering the gaps, dawn appears between the rubber trees
A drought stricken bottomless well, I drink in the cackles of the kulakozhi the scampers of the baby squirrels the sway of the rat snake gliding towards the faint yellow in the east and the ominous feel of human eyes
having a feast
The stream goes its way cackling about its hidden worms to the early ducks
I return to turn myself in to the door with two eyes They tell me I had been seen waiting for a man in the mist
It was to escape the sightless eyes that I chose the ‘unearthly’ hour The man they chose to conjure up verily had no eyes for me
It is up to me, Mom said
to get Dad to buy the things which I really need
A math notebook, socks, a new inkpot and so on
I remember him shaking his head at the list
asking me if I really couldn’t do without them but he took me
that Sunday on his bicycle to the market in the mango grove
He got a shave from an old man whose shop consisted
of a cracked mirror hung on the tree trunk, a comb, a scissor
and a small cloth round his neck with which he thrashed
his customers for free after they were clean.
We had sweet lassi and roasted peanuts under the trees
and puffed rice ball sweets. We wandered
through the vegetable and fish stalls listening to the price
of baby sardines but not buying much. There were plump chicks
under brown baskets and goats tied in the winter sun. I wanted one of each.
He laughed. We returned home with spinach and green peas.
It was only Mom who remembered the things that mattered least