This poetry collection explores the theme of "Living & Non Living" and delves into the relationship among humans, objects and the forces of nature. 🙍♀️ 📝🌱
When I was, quarter the size, of the coconut tree shielding our fence, feeding me dinner in tiny rice balls, my mother said in a murmuring tone, “look here, putha, “look at the moon, white and round, like a pot of curd, and can you see, the shadow of a hare, eating the curd, all on his own?” Startled, I stared at the sliver-clad moon, the hare’s paws waved through the gnarled trees.
“And if you eat, all your rice, “ My mother added, with a radiant smile, “That hare would bring curd and treacle, so eat up, putha, to be a “Big Girl.”
Days slipped soon into months and years, I ate my rice, to be a “Big Girl.” I waited every night, so the hare would bring, a pot of curd, drizzled in treacle. But, alas, the hare wouldn’t share, he stayed up and ate on his own. Instead, at school, a teacher beamed, holding an image, of a strange looking man, wearing a helmet, a glass fish-bowl, he stood proud, by Stars and Stripes.
“He was the man,” A voice echoed, “Who walked on the moon, what a giant leap!”
What a giant leap! when the hare winked behind a shattered shutter of smoke and Mirrors.
stopped watching the moon through the blinds. I learned to wait for store-bought curd, “Fresh from the farm” the label vowed, and the curd vanished in rushed mouthfuls.
Now, I can watch the moon through a screen, her dark side hidden in twenty-eight masks. But sometimes, I see the stranded hare, pleading, and trapped in an unnamed scar.
- Amanda Lopez 🥀-
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