by Umang Kalra
I learnt that silver had a smell kite strings
were made of something stronger than glass I
wondered how thread could slice through my
skin so very easily my childhood was a mess of
forgetfulness and Urdu that I did not recognize
Punjabi I kept hidden inside of the folds of my
clothes it was not pretty it was not made of
cement and stone like the english that carved
itself into my tongue into my throat into
my sleep through soil and blood it did not
taste of the rust from water taps they told me
stories of more sinister things poured down
water like crumbled glass poured down our
throats could we exist without trees rotting
into carcasses reading poems written for the
languages we spun into necklaces decked up it is
time for a celebration the monsters have gone
they left us our paradise see they left us this land
that smells of a crown discarded my mother’s
silver jewelry underneath my tongue it tastes
of the languages they told me to swallow and
spit out for them to steal it smells of the kites
mocking our battles in the sky it smells of blood
Umang Kalra is an Indian poet whose work has appeared or is forthcoming in Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Luna Luna Magazine, Vagabond City, Moonchild Magazine, and others. She tweets at @umangkalra_ and her website is umangkalra.tumblr.com.