Corollary, by Rajani Radhakrishnan
There are mornings, more mornings
now, when I try to separate love from
myself. I describe my face to the silence
as a stranger would, to another, after
a brief encounter. I describe my love
to the mirror as a bird would explain
light to another, in the dark. I describe
our time together as a fish would
talk of wetness to another, not knowing.
Your fingers comb through the lines,
trying to distinguish reason from craft.
But a poem is only a corollary. A
consequence that has subsumed its
cause. The glass in our window is
neither inside nor out. The sky becomes
a sky only when we look up. You
describe distance to me as a road would
to another, as a beginning or ending.
Rajani Radhakrishnan is from Bangalore, India. She posts her work on thotpurge.wordpress.com. Her poems have recently appeared in the Parentheses Journal, the Poetry Annals Anthology –Anatomy of Desire, The American Poetry Journal and Abridged.
2/7/2020 09:45:49 am
Thanks so much, Rall.
2/9/2020 02:36:04 am
Someone once told me, 'Philosophy is death to poetry.' You constantly disprove this in the most brilliant of ways.
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