ALKA WATCHES PORN
SHAKTHI SHRIMA
First published in Berkeley Poetry Review
, presses pause. rechristens
the color of her inner
thigh. the women’s bodies
slur, they press into each other
like thumbtacks and stay. the kind
of soft that never scabs over. everything
a mouth or something in one. alka’s
voice a wet bird in her mouth. it’s
hardest to unbutton yourself
when it’s already raining
outside. alka’s teeth are redwings
shivering in their sockets
she presses herself into herself
and stays. if the redwings swarm out
she will come for the first time. alka
wants to peck crop circles on the edges
of her shins. wants the streetlights
to rewind their heavy eyes, siphon up
burst gutters for miles. wants the day
to thrust into the next a little
harder. alka pretends
she is not watching herself. imagines
the women saying her name
all at once, the camera opening
like a body to a hand.
the color of her inner
thigh. the women’s bodies
slur, they press into each other
like thumbtacks and stay. the kind
of soft that never scabs over. everything
a mouth or something in one. alka’s
voice a wet bird in her mouth. it’s
hardest to unbutton yourself
when it’s already raining
outside. alka’s teeth are redwings
shivering in their sockets
she presses herself into herself
and stays. if the redwings swarm out
she will come for the first time. alka
wants to peck crop circles on the edges
of her shins. wants the streetlights
to rewind their heavy eyes, siphon up
burst gutters for miles. wants the day
to thrust into the next a little
harder. alka pretends
she is not watching herself. imagines
the women saying her name
all at once, the camera opening
like a body to a hand.
ALKA PLAYS HANGMAN WITH YOU
SHAKTHI SHRIMA
First published in Berkeley Poetry Review
asks What do you call wood when
it’s already burning. There were twenty-two trees
on her street. All bare. The sidewalk a shaved
tongue. You said every vowel in your name and
they were all wrong. The noose closed its lips
around a new limb, sucked. alka smiled at you
you smiled back without teeth. When alka
hung the man for you she forgot to draw his
slack mouth. When the boys said they
could see her tits she did not think to
hide them. The locusts licked the pavement
and you braided her hair. It never rained.
it’s already burning. There were twenty-two trees
on her street. All bare. The sidewalk a shaved
tongue. You said every vowel in your name and
they were all wrong. The noose closed its lips
around a new limb, sucked. alka smiled at you
you smiled back without teeth. When alka
hung the man for you she forgot to draw his
slack mouth. When the boys said they
could see her tits she did not think to
hide them. The locusts licked the pavement
and you braided her hair. It never rained.
SHAKTHI SHRIMA's work appears or is forthcoming in the Berkeley Poetry Review, the DIALOGIST, and Muzzle, amongst others. Shakthi Shrima appears or is forthcoming in her unmade bed. She works with Winter Tangerine as the Associate Editor of Spotlights, and is presently a student at Princeton University.
