Devanshi Khetarpal
Winter 2017 * Desert
for Trivarna Hariharan (1) come to seed this sea in my mouth a desert fleshed inside out reels close its body of water bit to open (2) ripple tonight this sand in the light mapped once to organ to bloom (3) pull the light to colour the body of me a rip of memory bent to water * Sandalwood In my mother’s room, there is a kind of light I cannot drape. In the sandalwood closet, her wedding saree hangs with the ripple of temple bells, ringing. Here is the Hindi I don’t speak. It is the colour of my mother on her wedding day. Maa, 27, tucking in this continent of herself, so close to the light. What moon shone that day? Answer, in other words. * |
Devanshi Khetarpal lives in Bhopal, India. Her poems have been published or are forthcoming in Indian Literature, TRACK//FOUR, Souvenir, and Drunk In A Midnight Choir, among others. She is the Editor-in-Chief of Inklette, a Poetry Reader for The Blueshift Journal, and a Co-Managing Editor for Sprout. Her work has been recognized by Hollins University and Columbia College Chicago. Khetarpal is an alumna the Iowa Young Writers' Studio 2015 and the UVA Young Writers Workshop 2016. She will start school as a student of the Core Program in Liberal Studies at New York University from Fall 2017.
|