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.