A child has sprinkled powder
on almost everything.
The places not white with his
safe for the baby talcum
stare at me, and the sky,
both bright and dim, screams
Lichtenstein at the earth dwellers.

The leftover bird cooked stuffed
with crumbs thrust in its id
is the breakfast today,
and we ready our daughter
for the Christmas tree.

These are the possibilities
of living where it snows.
I spread these before the bare dirt
and the not-summer wind,
and before the naked child
holding one grass halm between
his teeth still wet with
the blood of the stranger
who cornered him in the last night’s alley.



(Inspired by one Nick Victor photograph)

Kushal Poddar




Kushal Poddar lives in Kolkata, India
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