By Akshi Chadha
sockless feet push into white Nike trainers
you got from eBay
with traces of a catalytic ocean every step
an awaking squeeze
of washcloths your mother made
tearing old cotton shirts
and put in your backpack when you
weren’t looking at the silver shadow
of your father’s face
before you disappeared onto the deck
the moon in full swells the tide
to touch a hollow sky
susurration alive in your ears like a seashell
wading through cliffed nations
to this entryway deep as a knee gash
a marshland that swallows each sole
here someone you know might have sat
cross-legged in a blast zone
you pat yourself to check for the conditional memo
half-wilted in the back pocket of your jeans
liquescent arms await rites of initiation
cold fingers twitch for someone to say
anything
a herd walks through you
the trained eye scans for kindred
in alien crowds and averts
before it can glimpse half a smile
before you slip into the cut.
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