If there is a way back into
that country, I will receive that road
wherever it deigns to meet me.
In another century I held gems
in my lower jaw and waited underwater
for a signal. Borders crossed in the
shadows of boats.
Here in the aperture between
history and memory, I languish
a circle without a caesura
the lived regret the forgotten escape
a gate that cannot be seen cannot be scaled
a girl who cannot be seen cannot be saved.
The forest has petrified into
a necropolis of statues.
There is a rumor of a shortage of stars.
The nights darken and lengthen,
madden with grief.
This heart will sink this body
if it turns any more to stone.
Sharanya Manivannan is the author of a book of poems, Witchcraft. A recent Pushcart Prize nominee, her fiction, poetry and essays have appeared in Drunken Boat, Killing The Buddha, Monkeybicycle, The Nervous Breakdown, Superstition Review and elsewhere. She can be found online at www.sharanyamanivannan.com.