A poem where I don’t say

to gather leaves is like gathering friends

they picnic in the sun with their hearts on plates

who piece your putting and piece your eyes

with words of soothe, warmth

they come with pies in their hands, drinks

they wear mascaras like the lids bow to heavens

for their gratitude felt

the smell of earth binds you, strongly

their lips murmur lullabies into microphones

they hold the honey pot with dissonance and they bury their shame

in the palm of their mothers' hands before coming to you

to gather wind for leaves is like

rustling a dinner with your chattiest enemies

who on the night of the circling vultures

offer you a toast in the garb of a feast

that you must accept, abide

they wish that the stillness of your breath is theirs

and that water turns wine

they wish the gods who are helpless upon

the wishing of the orders of them

who don’t know them gods

to gather dust after a storm is

to find it everywhere

to dust the eyes, the skin and the crawls

to dust is to see

to dust is to live, breathe

dusty landscape, the nut crackers in the butters and jams

the viols music dies after a dust storm,

the broken twigs floating in miracle glass

a Cockatiel which sings about dust becoming dust

Shalini Singh is an Indian multi-genre writer who is soon going to start her MFA at Iowa State University. She has previously worked as a multi-practice lawyer but now feeds her soul and relishes good kinship. You can find her writings at https://linktr.ee/belladonnaoflavender If you like what you read, do share it with the world, it can only get better from there according to her.