What I’ll Wear to Your Funeral & Other Poems:Vasudha Pande
will not come to you nor
will it lie hidden waiting
to be put in your pocket
this creature it is not
a tease nor
does it know its own name
find it gasping beside an old man on a park bench
clutching its chest
tired sore out of breath
find it in the gutter
screaming kicking thrashing
its spindly limbs about
find it on a winter’s morning
lying among memorabilia from
another life another time
find it hanging in the salty air
staring at the whooshing noise
of August going by
find it on the street
in the steady glare of urban light
find it take it home
feed it your eyes nose ears skin tongue
let it explore the constellations
that make up so many of you each
a person in itself
then let it pick one and hold it mold it hand it back
take this gift call it your own
You look at your city
you see young people
standing in porous groups on pavements,
holding cigarettes and insecurities
and grand plans for the future.
you hear the screech of a metro
pulling out of a station and
it becomes the sound of your friends howling,
their entire lives shrunk to the size of
a night that fits inside two beer cans.
they lie on cold floors
in mounds of limbs and smoke and soggy chips.
now dancing with purple monsters
and now marveling at the changing shapes of their hands.
in rooms far away
their parents fuck –
angry penises and cunts rubbed raw –
pulling out world after dull world from
each other’s mouths
and sprinkling stardust on them.
hoping to fall in love again.
you see children
wistfully eyeing the ice cream cone in your hand.
you bow your head,
walk past them.
you sit on a broken bench
in a park and leaf through
the book of poetry you just bought,
shutting out your world
and escaping into the poet’s.
you are home.
What I’ll Wear to Your Funeral
I just heard that you died.
I know it was on your wish list
With must-have black dress
and that perfect smile you never had.
I’ll wear them both to your funeral.
people with a penchant for paper boats
puddles will fold you over and drown you
in lesser seas.
You might also like
He scooped up one triangular slice from the soft round pizza smothered with a molten crust of cheese. “Little more of oregano please” He told the young man at the
Laura Pugno was born in 1970 in Rome, Italy. Her publications include four novels, “La caccia” (Ponte alle Grazie 2012), “Antartide“ (Minimum Fax 2011), Quando verrai” (Minimum Fax 2009) and
It is a Habit No different from other days The struggle for tea in the morning The morning misery in the eyes of my daughter the border defined by her
Shyamal Singha was born in 1949. Died in 2003. Very strange. Born on Children’s Day (14th November) and expired on the over-commercial love-day (14th February). In spite of writing throughout
Odysseas Elytis was born in 1911 on the island of Crete and was a descendant of a family coming from Lesbos island. When his insular conscience met surrealism, the result
Ahalya of the rock Leader of the mission to protect the hermits stood on a jungle rock watching the forest dwellers’ heads floating down the wild stream. “step away ,
Name : RAVI LAXMIKANT KORDE. Born on 14th Jan. 1979. Place: Jalgav Mete, Aurangabad District, (MAHARASHTRA). Completed Masters Degree in English Literature. Poetry Collection in Marathi entitled ‘Dhoosar Zale Naste
The Flute: The Peacock’s Feather ‘Hope you do not mind If I refuse to be Your flute any longer Not that I feel neglected – Rather I was well-placed On
মনোপলি আজ মুত্তিয়া মুরালিধরনের মতো একজন ক্যানভাসার দেখলাম, শুদ্ধ বাংলায় দাঁতের মাজন বিক্রি করছে। অবিকল জনি ডেপের মতো একজন আছে, দৈনিক পত্রিকায় ফটোগ্রাফারের চাকরি করে। ফ্রিদা কাহলোর মতন একজনকে দেখেছিলাম—জোড়-ভ্রূ—বাগেরহাটের
Lyn Coffin (born November 12, 1943) is an American poet, fiction writer, playwright, translator, non-fiction writer, editor. She has published fiction, poetry and non-fiction in over fifty quarterlies and small
I would start scavenging the house looking for the ancient, weather-bitten, faithful rucksack – signaling the end of my summer vacations. My itinerary would be in public domain – a
Shankha Ghosh (born 6 February 1932) is a Bengali poet and critic, born in Chandpur of present day Bangladesh. He is a leading authority on Rabindranath Tagore. Other than that,
grief I stood there, awash with sand dunes I never visit one foot twisted inside of itself: coquette, doll-thing. my father’s words washed over me, this script my antique. I