Slowly Poem by Vinita Agrawal

Slowly

This diamond cut spring,
I am inconsolable

My dying held in shape
with metal sutures

The post office is sixteen breaths away
but never brings good news

Your lapses hurt a thousand-fold more
than the indifference of Manhattan

What lies in stock after festive spring has gone?
What lies in stock?

A blue-uniformed carer perhaps
transmuting the sorcerer of my pain

This non-surgical tumor is an immortal sestina
that my body has created from its polished dangers

My heart is restless
and the cuisine of winds bitter

I will leave sweet poems
for the shrine of your heart

So what if life is no longer in stock
So what if rain fills my pen
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