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Two Poems

by Sneha Subramanian Kanta 

Poetry

Resurrection Window

after Franz Wright's "On Earth"

Last spring, I thought life to be cruel after a rosebush died

I let the potted-

plant be undisposed

its how the living

keep sickly, faulty optimism—

every morning dawn-light

wrote an eulogy, an echo

of remnant skeletal

thorns—

Autumn scraped

earthworms out of soil

leaves sheltered the dead.

In the pre-dawn of

May, a few new leaves

sprouted out of

its stem.

How may the undead

speak about death?

The world is full

with people

that condemn

the meaning of the word holy.

post script

as dawn trembles with storm winds of yesterday's
dusk, little birds move shoals of white clouds with
grayish borders. the air fills with escapades of unripe
sunlight, chores yet to begin. monotony has not tread
its heavy feet below monsoon clouds thus far. the
ivory badge of the front door is vacant, the old, wise
trees hitherto in slumbered senses sing.

the swans at the lake must be heightened in stature
with overflowing water. newspaper piles, damp
on the cycle of a paper boy, rest in tranquil
idiosyncrasies. the composition of quiet roads
yearn prolonged stillness. a train engine dashes
against the faint, dark wedged mist and the coachman
halts. transparent firmaments asunder an archaic
melancholy like cast holding caucus with gladness.

About the Author

Sneha Subramanian Kanta is the author of Synecdoche (The Poetry Annals) and Prosopopoeia (Ghost City Press). Her chapbook Home is Hyperbole won the Boston Uncommon Chapbook Series (Boston Accent Lit). She is the founding editor of Parentheses Journal.

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