I summon the souls of fishbone
and of arid lands
in the cacti, in the perlite and stones
patterned and potted across my balcony.
Here, birds circle, and it rains.
Here I rush in order to save drought,
haul it to the hideaway.
I stare at the cacti catching
the delight of sometimes feathers,
arraying them in their crowns,
and shiver – simple pleasures!
An echo ants up and down my spine,
“Your ribcage will look fine
lying inside out on the sand.”
“Someday.” I say.
Winter sends
hibernation to my hanging garden.
Words and photo
Kushal Poddar
@amazon.com/author/kushalpoddar_thepoet
Author Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/KushalTheWriter/
Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe