Daniel Kuriakose is an 18-year-old high school senior who loves poems and is scared of dying.

MOURNING

Daniel Kuriakose

COPYRIGHT 2016 LITERARY JUICE. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Poetry

April 2017

The boy scrolls through his house.

He visits his grandmother’s newly cleared bedroom.

She waits at the rocking chair, a chuni flaked around her skeleton. She also wears a corpse.

Most of one. A bangle, too.

It knocks and rings against her wrist bone.

 

She sees the boy, gestures him to enter.

He tries to kiss her hand, her forehead,

any segment of hers. She shakes her head.

The boy retreats from his grandmother’s smell.

The flies have started. A rabbit.

 

She cradles the rabbit with one hand,

and feeds it the other. The boy cries. The rabbit

nuzzles against her bones.

Her eye sockets sadden at the sight

of her crying boy.

“Shhhhhhh,” she lullabies.

The boy asks why he cannot leave.

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