Rain Shadow
We decided to take the early morning bus.
It was the perfect time;
rising sun and birds
kept us company outside.
And inside, a few stray passengers,
like the both of us who
still carried sleep. With
a bag slung over our shoulders,
and many miles to go,
we bought potato chips
and hot chocolate,
plugged in the headphones
to hear John Coltrane;
the summer rain followed us.
Northeast winds tried to
trap it behind the hills and wring it dry,
but it followed us over the buildings,
trees and houses. Tiny droplets joined tiny droplets
to form big drops, which made their way
to us through open windows.
[Rain Shadow originally appeared in print in Turbulence Issue 11]
Frozen Lake
Gold dust from larkspur ride through the
lanes sprinkling nectar, fall in stile
as they draw close to the fences.
Like December, my eyes are glazed.
Rivulets flow within the limits
wanting to spill and wet the banks
close and still impossibly far.
Like December, my eyes are glazed.
Scarred wounds stitched up, camouflage
sack of reds, grays, blacks; obliterate
pink that tries to find its way in.
Like December, my eyes are glazed.
Armorless
They were concealed in a lidded drum
on the bottom shelf
between an aquarium, cartons of fish food
and aquatic plants—red and blue algae.
“It’s illegal”, whispered the owner
lifting the lid to show me
sea turtles weary from traveling
as they struggle to break the nylon nets.
Waiting to be sold,
shelled for meat and pills
to those who wield power—
power that comes with stashed green notes,
they swim in their watery prison.
Evening, on my walk on the beach
I fling shells back into the sea
watch the sun
merge with the waves
and she scuttles back home.
[Armorless originally appeared in print in Eclectic Eel 3]
Mamta Madhavan has been writing poetry since the age of 13. Her poems have been published in print and online journals all over. She is a curator on staff at gotpoetry.com.
do like the December glazed eyes… your lines so intimate to the reader