bliss station ~ poetry

petrichorus

online classes & I keep telling
my mother to close the door.

is afraid the word, of being
caught mid-secret by the profs

that I'm not as on my own
as I pretend to want to be

that I'm hitched to curtained
identities that when pulled

bring down the ceiling, that
I keep dreaming of my deus

ex machina father, of making
way for the cows at the bus stop

of waiting there even as the train
I should be on floats behind me

in seducing curves. the almost
imperceptible click after amma

closes the door, like the sound
of scabbarding a sword in the face

of bladed chariots, like hammers
unhammeringly falling in a petri-

chorus. did we move to this bigger
house to be in a smaller home with

soft doorknob bgm, we instead of
me to lessen the blame, left behind

holding onto something that has
moved on behind closed doors?

~Ajay

15/9/2020