here, behold in my maw
the dismembered remains of a poem
you recoil, but you face it
give weight to the ephemeral
the most fleeting of feelings
pull apart the abstract
arrive
at the throbbing truth
the blood that seeps
from folded palms
legitimize, verify, name it
a poem
it should make me uncomfortable
it does.
Jyotsna Nair lives in Boston. In her free time, she enjoys visiting cafes and old bookstores. She is a firm believer in the power of banana bread.