Poetry Issue 15

   Issue #17 : July-December 2012

Aditi Machado



      Lucia and I turn twelve; something happens.

      The others find out, hiding behind a pillar.

      We are betrayed:

      the two of us like the innermost fruit in a bowl,
      the others slowly falling away or being eaten or taken
      to be eaten.

      A happening, then a giving up.

      Our mothers have a time.
      I am confined to the yard behind our house.
      I lie on the short grass-a sage on a bed of nails.

      I watch the brilliant cataract
      sky move as if a sight
      within it moves.

      A happening, a giving up, and now a removal.

      Still, I know I will again be
      a flower to the wind, and I will
      again friction.