Remnants of the Goddess

Let them come for what’s left:
a chorus of bone, river and soot.
Worthy enough. Holy enough.

Like all the others, singular—or not.
Wanting only for your name to blue
my lips and call it miracle.

Our love double-knotted, saddle-stitched
held the world together. Until it didn’t—
all the words you placed in me flushed
and faltered. From memory, I recited
their worn prattle—cut them clean
with my bite. The jungle we made in blame

grew and grew, fed on our melancholy.
Not even the birds knew to change their songs.

by Vandana Khanna –


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s