1
You set my face alight with little fires,
burning black shards of my chin hair to ash.
When you leave, you sink somewhere out of reach.
The arches of my feet curl back
towards the ground you bury yourself into.
2
You cannot stand to look at me.
I know.
Neither can I.
Still—at daybreak, your body will glisten,
rising from the harsh sea, stretching
as your hot scowl presses a gun to my jaw.
You will beat against the windows
until your burn bleeds in like shattered glass.
3
Morning spills,
My mother’s wrists churn the doorknob open,
her muffled Tamil spits insults through the walls.
My dog’s body, burrowed at my feet,
stakes me to the mattress.
I don’t know when I will be ready,
but I am sure I will be, when I am.
The girl I have not met will rise out of me.
I have seen her.
Beyond the deep swell of dreams,
the lamp is in flames at the bedside,
The fan, whipping—
will stir her eyes open.
Soon, yes, yes, soon!
She will greet tomorrow with hot hard hands.
