by Gopikrishnan Kottoor
Her dead fish cling to her with a closeness of pets. But her black scythe is sharp, cuts their heads, and blood, almost human, fills the twilight purpling to night. She waits. The last of her deal is not over yet. In the roofless chawl beside her, her naked baby moves in deep slumber with a quietness of uncaught fish in the ocean. She looks up at the moon, praying for a no rain night, as the sea wind plays on , entering the holes of her dim lantern, masturbating to darkness its thick yellow flame.
Copyright ©:Gopikrishnan Kottoor
Last updated June 08, 2012