the earth is empty of rain
it has given up its bowels
exposed them
mud grey
it doesn't starve
it lies like a wet mouth
open
as if run over by a train
not parched
but out of habit
it is a lie
this harvest
fertility
green
the sapling
all make-believe
stories for children
to soothe
fill the emptiness
they will soon begin to grow into,
yawn
when they come face to face
hollow-eyed
in the mirror of life.
the building
blooms
with a fire from behind
it gives her life
she is in the line of the climbing
sun
her spine is wet
her edges inflamed
her cheeks pink
she is taller than any
sky scraper in the city
because of an accidental positioning
of her
on the moving curve
of the earth
this little building.
(For Dr. SRA)
I understand your divinity
You, my devotion
We are enthralled
into an eternal lip lock
savage and whole
i once asked a lover
why do lips swell?
he said they were like seeds
of the hibiscus
that sieve
off love.
my heartbeat is exposed
Keya,
in the form of you growing up
raw, round nervous cells
under the sticky wet
as you fly from lusting hands
of family to those of forty thousand ayahs.
pulitzer
he states
an award winning building
window to a world view
nice green,
the hills,
an extra bedroom
it is gudi padwa
the festival of beginnings
'with a down payment
the pied-à-terre is yours'
we have sold
lung, kidney, heart
ushering our selves
into these empty rooms.
(c) Rochelle Potkar
like a candle
that curdles
around its own feet
Every evening
crackling, burning, diminishing
Only to spring up the
next day
Whole and
ready to dance a flame on its shoulders.
