i remember her eyes closed. a bangled arm
on the sai satcharitra like a bundle of thread
unraveling on water. somebody must've turned
the TV on. she always described it to the doctor
in two ways: either as a tree with gnarled roots
or as white noise. the TV bruised black to blue
and turned on her closed eyes. she oared past
the swarm of rippled noise with nothing but
the dots and beached on the landing page
selling tupperware, mixer blenders, and toycars.
in her faith she ties a charadu around my wrist
like a doha. i slit it with a line break
~ ajay
30/9/2024
first published in poems india
