BurningFor Mamoni Raisom Goswami When they lifted you up to the pyre, you were all red. Lips painted, eyebrows seething, skinwrapped in the crimson of your mother’s mekhela sador. Your face crinkled from the years.Decades and decades of devotion. Red on your cheeks. Your feet, red with alta dye. Footprints
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at Lake Lugano, Switzerland You sit between eachwave rocking this stone worldlike a cradle. The peaks & troughs of me,my life, delight to beholdall that you offer. When you gently close a
Ars Poetica with Inheritance & Refuse the neighbors’ son looksabout forty. he’s
at Lake Lugano, Switzerland You sit between eachwave rocking this stone worldlike a cradle. The peaks & troughs of me,my life, delight to beholdall that you offer. When you gently close a
Ars Poetica with Inheritance & Refuse the neighbors’ son looksabout forty. he’s standingbeneath the oaks in their backyard, bellowing, justsay you’ll never give it to me,meaning the house in which the three of themnow
BurningFor Mamoni Raisom Goswami When they lifted you up to the pyre, you were all red. Lips painted, eyebrows seething, skinwrapped in the crimson of your mother’s mekhela sador. Your face crinkled