ghazal (my body)
by Adithi Vimalanathan
sitting atop the porcelain bowl, I bleed.
lineage behind pained the same. through self, a body passes.
years ago, a woman bared herself, flat on sterile vinyl
there were forceps. perhaps there was a brother. a body passes.
I broke in the womb for another. none came.
hang up the sign on a window. mother — no body passes!
romantic lyrics make you a floral, I a celestial
body. we are not enough; there is no son. his body static —
hands are laid on hands are laid on hands are
laid on hands so that through the door no one passes.
i hopped on red, silver, green and blue lines
but the air at home is in my head. not set free, a body passes