Poem

(with a line from Dilruba Ahmed)


at first
with tenderness and then

with fierce intensity,
the myths of childhood

merge with those 
of older age. the bed

sheets wet with effluvia
and vegetable matter, 

the windows streaked
with fingerprints.

in the yellow glow,
the widow moves from one

streetlamp to another,
like a spider looking

to jump on an electric 
current in the air.