after hours.

what it’s like to drive through a cardboard town. painted all in grays and clouds. as if you could push the scenery away. only to find your high school drama instructor. she’s staring you down. point blank. tge stage is naked. and everything is so futile.

burn [a continuation]

fire engine red tomato red 

 

lacquered up and friday night red 

 

baba calls it a whorish red 

 

cleaved hair slicked back and a 

 

cocky mouth held in 

 

obstinance and 

 

i wonder 

 

what a poet looks like 

 

does he take flattering profile pictures? 

 

does he pose? 

 

does he hold his mouth in a million different stances? 

 

each slightly similar to the one before it? 

 

does he have to be a he? are his eyes so very expressive? 

 

there are so many leather pants to choose from. or 

 

should i go with a skirt? at the tea 

 

table there are biscuits and samosas and 

 

bangla tv in the background there 

 

is too much sugar in my cup too 

 

much milk 

 

i want to scrape my tongue 

 

clean of the taste

 

Something I’ve been jamming to.

burn [a continuation]

as you watch me smolder

drib-

-ble

down

you     r     b     ac     k.

ashes rolling off your palms.

grapple for me in the sands, as

i

sink

in

to

the

ground.

crumple.

as if on que.

as

i     f

in death. i fall

so gracefully sad.

i danced in my pain. i gave you all i had. i gave you my

arms. my legs. my sveltitude.

my soul.

your love could have kept me.

your love could have calmed me

away from all those burning, dead suns.

but i licked the lava, until

the magma flowed in me. i peeled

my skin back, dug into the ligaments,

felt each muscle strain

in heat. in tension. in anxiety.

and you watched. you watched me cool into rock.

You should know…

burn [a continuation]

in the mosque

they sing she’s dead

they mumble ya’allah, ya’allah

save her, save her! forgive her

for her sins. forgive her for her 

dreams. forgive her

for her appetite. forgive our sons.

forgive our daughters. forgive our 

parents. forgive us. for our appetites. 

they howl into their cupped hands,

flooding their life lines with tears.

burn [take 4]

under this black-lit sky and the 

mehendi in blazes, 

you watch as the flames lick up my achal

following the trail of the

digital print, kissing up my bare back, 

scorching your mantra into my skin. 

that burn and the glow of orange,

how do i turn it all away? you, 

toss the image away of me, but, 

you can’t look away. i dance in

circles. i dance in sadness. i dance

in my ruin. the nights of tears

couldn’t wash away this heat.

tossing in my sheets. wrapping 

my legs around your absence. nothing could 

make this desire fall to ashes.

if i were to yell. to call out. reach

for you. weep. sob.

tremble. and fall. lie still on the ground. you 

wouldn’t move a ligament. wouldn’t flinch. 

not dare. in

all my harried words, my curried parties of 

bachelor doctors and pharmacists. and i’d told 

everyone, he’s black. but, he loves me. and you’ll 

see, he’ll love us, too. he’ll fit right in. he likes when 

i wear a teep on my forehead. he’s never unravelled

me in a sari. he’s never kissed me up henna 

trail. never loved me in the afternoon with no kohl 

and no lace and no perfume. he’s never gotten

me in just simple sentences.

 

burn. [take 3]

this black-lit sky and this

mehendi in blazes

licks up my achal with

kisses up my bare back,

scorching your mantra into my skin.

that burn and the glow of orange,

how do i turn it all away? you, 

toss the image away of me, but, 

you can look away? i dance in

circles. in sadness.

in ruin. and nights of tears

couldn’t wash away this heat.

tossing in my sheets. wrapping 

my legs around your absence. 

this desire won’t fall to ashes.

to yell. to call. 

to reach. for you. weep. sob.

tremble. and fall. lie 

still on the ground. 

you 

wouldn’t flinch. 

wouldn’t dare. in

all my harried words, my curried parties of 

bachelor doctors and pharmacists. i’d told 

everyone, he’s black. but, he loves me. and you’ll 

see, he’ll love us, too. he’ll fit right in. he likes when 

i wear a teep on my forehead. he’s never unravelled

me in a sari. he’s never kissed up a henna 

trail. never loved me in the afternoon with no kohl 

and no lace and no perfume. he’s never had

me in just simple sentences.

burn. [take 2]

this black-lit sky and

mehendi in blazes.

the flames 

lick up my achal with

kisses up my bare back

scorching your mantra into my skin

that burn and the glow of orange,

how do i turn it all away? you, 

toss the image away of me, but, 

you can look away? i dance in

circles. in sadness.

in ruin. nights of tears

couldn’t wash away this heat.

tossing in my sheets. wrapping 

my legs around your absence. 

this desire won’t fall to ashes.

to yell. to call. 

to reach. for you. weep. sob.

tremble. and fall. lie still on the ground. 

you 

wouldn’t flinch. 

wouldn’t dare. in

all my harried words, my curried parties of 

bachelor doctors and pharmacists. and i’d told 

everyone, he’s black. but, he loves me. and you’ll 

see, he’ll love us, too. he’ll fit right in. he likes when 

i wear a teep on my forehead. he’s never unravelled

me in a sari. he’s never kissed me up henna 

trail. never loved me in the afternoon with no kohl 

and no lace and no perfume. he’s never gotten

me in just simple sentences.

burn. [in progress]

under this black-lit sky and the

mehendi lit on fire,

you watch as the flames lick up my achal

following the trail of the

digital print as it kisses up my bare back,

scorching the snaking mantra into my skin.

that burn and the glow of orange,

how do i turn it all away? you,

toss the image away of me, but,

you can’t look away. i dance in

circles. i dance in sadness. i dance

in my ruin. the nights of tears

couldn’t wash away this heat. nights of

tossing in my sheets. nights of wrapping

my legs around your absence. nothing could

make this desire fall to ashes.

if i were to yell. if i were to call out. if

i were to reach out for you. weep. sob.

tremble. and fall. lie still on the ground. you

wouldn’t move a ligament. you wouldn’t flinch.

you wouldn’t dare. i know you, in

all my harried words, my curried parties of

bachelor doctors and pharmacists. and i’d told

everyone, he’s black. but, he loves me. and you’ll 

see, he’ll love us, too. he’ll fit right in. he likes when 

i wear a teep on my forehead. he’s never unravelled

me in a sari. he’s never kissed me up henna

trail. never loved me in the afternoon with no kohl

and no lace and no perfume. he’s never gotten

me in just simple sentences.