Departure terminal /
Not a spirited game of Chutes & Ladders
nor a spin at the roulette wheel; or leaving
your house for the last time, only the phone book
and dictionary left unpacked. But you turning
the knob of the kaleidoscope even when
you knew it was broken, pretending to see
something new in that tired face of the moon.
Not the stars taking a tumble on the dark
carpet of night but instead, resuming their
rightful positions by morning — replacing
our wishes for what could be with what is. Salt
crystals scatter on black granite countertop,
a map of constellations to flavor our last
supper. Let’s promise to remember our stories
even as our tongues temper and cure, even
as we start to forget each other’s proper names.
Not a spirited game of Chutes & Ladders
nor a spin at the roulette wheel; or leaving
your house for the last time, only the phone book
and dictionary left unpacked. But you turning
the knob of the kaleidoscope even when
you knew it was broken, pretending to see
something new in that tired face of the moon.
Not the stars taking a tumble on the dark
carpet of night but instead, resuming their
rightful positions by morning — replacing
our wishes for what could be with what is. Salt
crystals scatter on black granite countertop,
a map of constellations to flavor our last
supper. Let’s promise to remember our stories
even as our tongues temper and cure, even
as we start to forget each other’s proper names.
Devi S. Laskar is a native of Chapel Hill, N.C. She holds a B.A. in journalism and English from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill; an M.A. in South Asian Studies from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign; and an M.F.A. in writing from Columbia University in New York. Laskar is a photographer and poet -- and a former crime and government newspaper reporter. Her poems have been published in such periodicals as The Squaw Valley Review, The Tule Review and The North American Review, where her poems were finalists for the James Hearst Prize in 2011 and 2009. She now lives in California.
Powered by Women