The night my wife’s father died
they also shot the president
although the bullet was meant
for no target. My mother called
my wife because she had her head
turned toward the ensuing dark outside,
and her phone wouldn’t stop ringing.
“Excuse me. ” She said. Evening
stood on the street as if it could
no longer remember why it was here.
She held the threshold and took the room
for a walk in the park. “I need air.”
She said. We held the furniture we sat on,
and everything shook as she dragged
the room behind her. In the sky
the Moon was a bullet hole.
Two thousand miles away from our city my father-in-law passed away.
.
Picture and words
Kushal Poddar
.
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