When there is a human, the breath follows no one. I hold the square afternoon in my hands, shiny and pointed at the edges, ready to strike. Say you want to do something with your life, but the mouth will always lack attention. Try to distinguish one wall in your bedroom from another, or paint a single bird that will enter your pillow to purify. What if if lacked the momentum it needs to envision the emotions that do not speak. You called up to tell me that I asked you to carve a tree out of your spine in your dream last night, but you forgot to peel the leaves. A throat was a smaller story when I was young, but now whatever gets waterlogged is still alive. If continents were diagrams, it would have been easy to explore the laws of immersion. However, I still lift one to my mouth, houry, slippery, not born.
Shinjini Bhattacharjee‘s poems have been published, or are forthcoming in Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, Gone Lawn, Crack the Spine, Jersey Devil Press, Metazen, Red Paint Hills Poetry, Literary Orphans and elsewhere. She is also the founding editor of Hermeneutic Chaos Literary Journal.