As I pack, absurd regrets vie for room
With checklists in my brain. The marmalade
And butter sandwich I refused to eat.
Birds gliding down in a spin that the zoom
Distorted in the photo. Fruit buns made
By that one corner bakery. The red
Flowers on the wall with their huge black ants,
Chaunsas, that grow nowhere else. Rahu, king
Of fried fish … odd, jarring flashes, they thread
Their way through my crammed suitcases, and meet
A sprig of motia, drying. It chants
Our stories like a litany, knitting
A spine, sepia-hued, for the wild game
I must now play, abroad, adrift, aflame
To revive my lost world.
Artwork by: Olga Boznanska
