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.