Artwork by Ruchini Rupasinghe
through a narrow and motionless gully
a boy carries his sister on his back
two of us look down from the balcony
without even
pretending
to look away
we don’t carry our sisters through gullies
we don’t wear shirts frayed open at the elbows
he plods across the gully
toes curled on concrete
his sister’s sandals dangling
like birds too drained to fly
(some birds — skid across floors
wings battering against fractured glass
feet tangled in napkins and straw
flutter
lift
fall)
he lingers past our eyes
across our consciousness
sunlight caught in his tousled hair
now we are five flights down the stairs
he is five yards down the gully
and we watch him lumber past
‘children, come in for chai!’
they pour saffron tea into english teacups
and he tramples across the gully
without watching us
some things distance themselves easily
and some are harder to forget
we still remember the scent of saffron
in our habits and consciousness
(let us get married in prague
bells bending the dusk air
honeymoon in madrid
and settle in sicily)
some evening you and i will play badminton
sending the birdie across polished floors
victories with every flight
hit the birdie— let it soar for scores!
i wonder what will happen
if it doesn’t lift
will we slam our rackets
break the net
or remember some wings
are too worn to fly
like sandals silently striking
the back of a boy
who carries a weight
he never asked for
and still loves.