< 1
I saw her filching through the dirt
On the railway tracks, hunched
Sifting through the gravel
For that fork carelessly tossed
Finding one piece of an intact, perfect candy
Whoops of unfettered joy
Devoured,
Digested,
Forgotten
In a wink.
Back to the hunt.
I stare transfixed
At the gaping opening
in the back of her rag-dress
Transfixed at the dark, pointy haunches of her back
Moving fluidly,
carelessly.
At the dust-caked skin
Catching the glint of the steel tracks
Or sunlight.
My center of gravity's shifted to my throat
Slowly, she turns, diva-like
Swan-neck and all
Sun and steel-flecked hair that glows
Finds my eyes and holds them there
Takes her time to form that perfect smile
Wills the wind to swirl her mottled garb
Flashes me her most dazzling smile,
Releases me.
And I turn away shamed.
Shailaja is an emerging poet and an engineer living in Los Altos, California. She was born and raised in Ranchi, a small town in India, and now shares a slightly chaotic home with her husband, two teenage children, a dog, and more useless objects than she would ever agree to labeling thus. When she is not navigating her professional life or tending to her family, she is an occasional writer. Her work has appeared in two anthologies Turning the Corner(Eber & Wein), I Don’t Feel Anything (Wingless Dreamers), and in Superlative, A Literary Journal,. It is forthcoming in Half and One, 1922 Review and Beyond Words. She is the editor of a coffee-table book, Boys II Men.
Website: The Voice Not Spoken
Instagram: @shailajavats
Facebook: @Shailaja.vats