We didn't bury him we burnt him there's nothing left of him he is the earth and the rivers
by Karan Kapoor
The day we buried him,
we buried:
the day we buried him
summer with its hanging tongue
monsoon a bloodrain for seeds
our sorrow, sobs, knives, prayers
his fractured memories
one black cloud, his love
old music of his shoulderblades, knees
litany of promises in his blood
the way he rode his bicycle, hunched
all the pythons and icicles he hallucinated
all the medicines that failed
plinth of sickness awarding tears, at last
the tears, the crimson flowers
It’s that time of the year again
and we’re all waiting to bury his wife.
If you’re on your phone, this images will show you the proper line breaks.
KARAN KAPOOR
Karan is a poet. They have been awarded or placed for the James Hearst Poetry Prize, Rattle Annual Prize, Ledbury Poetry Prize, Julia Darling Memorial Prize, Red Wheelbarrow Prize, John & Eileen Allman Prize, Orison Anthology Award, and the Literary Taxidermy Competition. Their manuscript Portrait of the Alcoholic as a Father was a semi-finalist for the Charles B. Wheeler Poetry Prize. Their poems have appeared in or are forthcoming in AGNI, Poetry Online, Colorado Review, Prism Review, The Offing, Strange Horizons, Frontier, and elsewhere.