The Noresoup Jukebox

these sparrows charming singing softly beneath the soffit the rain occupies the skies sparrows' wings on prolonged rest, they must wonder how slowly the time goes by. and when the rain ceaseless worries may feel impenetrable  and will the wings remember how to carry  what is now a feathery stiffness body heavy with doubt.  do wings forget as the feet grow  accustomed becoming wise men of nested ground; branches no longer piercing, blankets for the new chirpers. warm by the window seat it is easy to forget the sun when all that follows rain is another endless round of thunder deafening and heavy clouds. warmed window seat; skin tanned. a few hundred doves eager for when a place  is found for those heavy olive branches  to land.

would you walk the distance if I asked? called to you from  this many miles away, your tired legs, heel bites, blistered feet, and no promise of a lover who heals. would you be so bold as to cross the line there to here quench your wishful thinking and drown  in the light of my presence. holy, holy. and if I asked you  to read my palms, would you feign lines of affection and call it fate? like love is a promised thing, and perform perseverance for all the many times I will walk away.  and would you, even if you did not have to, build a ship, learn to set sail to find shades of green, dragonflies that gleam, and give your life,  if you were to fail?

when was the last time you held me, mary? like you meant it, like you loved me. all that you see now  is where i am compromised mary, are my wounds not yours to heal? forget the lousiness that brought us here, or all the hurt you bore from birth to now, what has veiled your affection, mary? as to beat me down, treat me foul. what do you pray for mary? who are your words meant to reach? for they read like testimonies, meant to preach rather than to reveal. God that you so lovingly praise, does He lead you, as well, in the way that you speak? when you rouse all my past doubts and you pick and scratch at the seams? my iniquities, now weapons against me, mary, mary,  it is thou that hast forsaken me. eyes who witnessed my suffering most, saw my fingers grow big, recalling when they were small. it is only you who knows so much of me. mary,  what sin did i commit? so treacherous was it, as to sever the cord  joining your womb to my mouth. forgive me, mary, i love you still...

soothed by resentment, this anger that doesn't dull down, oh, what a triumph to be a daughter! what a loss for the world, the potential in me,  had i been a man, how loved i would have been! sorrows, sorrows instead i have battles at home the fight to be known in all the worlds that i enter in here, out there, all the time, all places, and still, i must entertain meek girls do not survive.  sorrows, sorrows

conversations shallow as a creek you reach for my hand before you give me time to speak i wonder why you aren't curious about what i think but i betray myself and my mother grieves loving can be different from what you believe so i keep quiet and wait for my hour to leave and you will wonder what changed my mind so quickly slow to realise all you do,  is make me feel pretty. 

the nights in Delhi have grown vague barely a memory awful to think  only two months have passed and yet, forgotten so easily red night light suitcase, bedside table fridge that was my sun broken washing machine you, witness to all these fragile little things. perhaps forgotten healing witnessed only by strangers park full of them and only one girl  crying  in the middle curious neighbours busy streets trees that made pretty patterns relentless sun that shone on me you, thief of the joys of these fragile little things.