HPN

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Poetry of Issue #8        Page 44

Scordatura

Spring surprises us this time.
"Don't close the door yet.", it says,
"Death awaits on the doorstep."

We cover our mouths as if
our emotion will escape
through the orifices, yaps.

Death seems to stoop in our yard,
spread an endless fistful of seeds
and spit to provide them nourishment.

Litanies of leaves recite breeze.
Spring keeps the door open.
We stand near the apartment's end.



Kushal Poddar