Catalog of frozen memories
We don’t mourn the loss of broken glass
it settles into a million stars, shards even
while we watch a red moon rise above us
We don’t mourn distance, absence of words
our pauses are line breaks that help adjust to
the temporality of life, inside of found poems
We don’t mourn the loss of our own clarity
arguments about where the bag of cherries
lost itself, finding pits swirling in the washer
We don’t mourn shifting demands of food
from sticky smudgy muddy brownies, now
a stubborn ask for boiled eggs, runny yolks
We don’t mourn that our mornings’ change
shape, from watching sparrows, filling bird
feeders, to neglected bird shit, unmade beds
We don’t mourn violence, neither our own
nor bloody violence of lands, dogs in wars
we fall asleep, heads dangling, static of TV
We don’t mourn how we are losing ease of
a kiss, touch of skins, lack the spark we had
our eyes squint at any sign of joyousnesses
We don’t mourn missing curiosity, nibbling
at teaching moments like a flighty squirrel
our ritual is limited to filing doctor’s receipts
We don’t mourn the weather, questions
repetitive chores we argue about, linger
like watering succulents, nearly bone dry
We don’t mourn farewells anymore, facts
and data is a junkyard inside foggy brains
we measure days with erased tally marks
We don’t mourn our own lost recognition
if either is dead, date etched on the plaque
the other will sing, unafraid of last breaths
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Instructing a Yoga Class
Step outside this coquettish altar, a container
Lounge into yourself, lengthen long in spine
Ease your breath, let it unwind in interludes
Let in every thought towards its navel center
You are gripping the sides of your own hide
Fingers clawing into the backs of your knees
Perhaps, you try to run the warmth of palms
Up and down your legs, torso in a balasana
Examine awkwardness of breath, it is a river
Imagine you are floating in the galaxy above
Allow every person in shavasana around you
To also rise, let them become constellation
Find the craters, touch the hollows, gentle
Make space for the woman next to you too
Browse barefoot into the forest, soles wet
Follow the footprints of a mycorrhizal web
Adapt as your body likes, drop knees down
Allow this flesh to die, alone like when born
Swim beyond thoughts, float towards a ghat
Gasp as you arrive, a hush settling into tears
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When Kashiana Singh is not writing, she lives to embody her TEDx talk theme of Work as Worship into her every day. She currently serves as Managing Editor for Poets Reading the News. Her chapbook Crushed Anthills by Yavanika Press is a journey through 10 cities. Her newest full-length collection, Woman by the Door was released in Feb 2022 with Apprentice House Press.
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Stone Poetry Quarterly 