The Voice Issue 30: July/August 2017 - Page 12

12

Forgotten the ropes

And the sun melting on our tongues

The golden yolk spilling

And slipping into our dipped throats

The salty quiver of a nose

When the white sweaty froth wafts up its tunnels

You and me have forgotten many things.

The brashness of rough sand grains that clings to feet

skipping spooling stones on mirrors

and the tickle of golden feathers in

paddy fields

the mudlush thick

and brown like the speckled egg shells

we walk on,

the sudden swift smiles that uncurl

from steadfast hibernation

and the roars of quivering excitement

at the driftwood that strikes spinning red

spurting sixes and fours.

We have let these

whispered ramblings

of the tediousness of inertia

rattle our ear drums

forcing us to hunt for mishaps

and draw lines of unsurety,

cutting the cords

with gleaming skeptic knives,

sifting ourselves

like sifting snowdust flour in strainers

trying to find the lumps of dissimilarity

confused by the stories we were told

about what it is to be

who it is we are.

Today I am telling you

What we are is

something more than

These redrust cages we have built-

That we are something that crawls beneath our skin

And is hiding in the hollows of our bones

Soft satin wings longing to take flight

Today I am telling you

What we are is

something more than

These redrust cages we have built-

That we are something that crawls beneath our skin

And is hiding in the hollows of our bones

Soft satin wings longing to take flight

That we were blinded by the

Microscopic scars and rips

And the slivers of dashes

And hyphens

Of lost conversation

Looking through the telescope-

I see it all.

What it is

That who we are

And I’m telling you-

Something in our kiribath bones

Is screaming

Something in the hollows

Is expressing surety

In only this-

We are the same.

A peculiar island

sailing the seas

Is the missing piece of ipseity

That has aptly

Divulged into our limbs.

It is telling me

That these kite strings have now

Grafted our skins

The overlapping memories

Tinged with blushing hues

Linking, combining, joining

I told you what the wind whispered into our flushed, salmon stained

ears was the truth.

Ceylon Ceilão Heladiva

Taprobanê Tambapanni Sarandīb

Sri Lanka

Clutching the curlicues of our worn bodies in it’s arms

And echoing beneath our sunkissed skins.