We breathe in.
Infant seahorses
are released in a microplastic home,
mangroves drown for oil towns
alien flies fall from soot-scented skies.
The soft yellow hills of jackfruit
are ripe with honey, love
ordered online arrives in a bubble wrap.
Why do aerial drone photos
of megacities look like rusty pointed nails?
The thistle may be a weed or a warrior
depending on who is telling the story.
In a world that is barely held together by a safety pin,
truth comes down the mountain slope, its necklace
breaks under the weight of its bouncing beads.
The tap of illusion drips, the body geometry swings
metamorphoses gracefully
from murmuration of birds to honeycomb prisms
to a forest of pines, to an oasis river
to the face of a fawn, to a two stringed lute.
The dough of heart is meant to be moist with tears
so that it can be reshaped — kneaded as needed.
Someday, in riotous pain there may arrive a poem
butchered and bloodied, to nurse us.
It's a perfect day to slice the sun
with a long bamboo spikelet
sit in silence and watch
the bust of yolk flow out in exhibition.
We breathe out.
Madhu Raghavendra
Madhu Raghavendra is a poet, artist, and curator, who has authored four books of poetry, Make Me Some Love to Eat, Stick No Bills, Being Non-essential, and Going Home, published by Red River. He was a poet-in-residence at International Writing Program Fellowship, University of Iowa, and the Charles Wallace Writing Fellowship, University of Stirling, Scotland. He collaborates with global artists to create cross disciplinary poetry experiences, and his poems have been set to music in the United States, Finland and the Netherlands. He conducts poetry workshops for young adults, and uses poetry as a tool in development conversations. He has participated in PEN Emergency World Voices Congress of Writers at the United Nations Headquarters, New York. He curates the multidisciplinary Ajanta Ellora Arts Residency in Maharashtra www.ajantaelloraartsresidency.org