ISSN: 1941-4137
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
Tanya "Jade Vine" Singh is an Indian trans, non-binary, panromatic asexual writer, poet and editor. Their work has appeared in Gone Lawn, Minola Review, Polyphony H.S, and elsewhere, and has been recognized by the Times of India and Bow Seat Ocean Awareness Student Contest, among other places. They are the founder & editor-in-chief of The Cerurove, a literary & arts magazine.
Also by Tanya "Jade Vine" Singh:
Heaven is Only a Part of Our Body Where All the Sickness Resides
Prolonged Medication
thirteen fishes’ shadows
The Practitioner’s Guide to Self-Love
I'm naming all my shadows.
No one wants to be alone. There is
A river that only sings my name.
I remember how I named the stars,
How I couldn't be alone in the dark.
The kindest way to kill a bird was to
make it believe in the afterlife. There is
A boy whose name rhymes with mine.
I gave him nothing in return but leaves
To burn. Yes, the boy is not dead, but
Maybe it's better this way. In the aftermath
Of my childhood, I didn't exist anymore,
Like the horses in the lake above my head.
After all, I still believe the gravity is a push
Instead of a pull, a weight over & over until
Submission. This is how I spell grounded.
But who are these people with your name?
I have been too afraid to call my name,
Nobody should have to hear victory
spelled out from a stranger’s eyebrows,
This is another kind of waltz but sorrowful -
I swear I held a butterfly so gently, I thought
It was dreaming. Maybe I die too when I'm
Dreaming. This is where I learnt to dance.
Then made to bleed but in all earnesty
You & I are inside the river. How we are both
Consumed by the same wave. Even when the
River died too empty, ink-spilled, I couldn't take
That as consolation. Beneath the door is your
Chest, still beating. I'm sorry, I ate all the keys.
You want someone dead, & I want
someone back. That one night, I'll still
Play your favourite song until the lyrics fade
Into your footsteps. Everything that once
Failed comes back to us.
The safest place was still my failure.
Someday, I'll break my own body
To make you space.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.
All contents © the author.
