“I fear gatherings”,
Said the girl at the wedding party.
The howls and screams of new children,
The laughter,
The sweat and dust trickling down
The swirl of bamboo spears
Into large cauldrons of flesh.
The Yellowed wounds of cauliflowers
The glass eyes of twisting fish
The flight of worms of ash.
The wishing and greeting,
The silent flirting in the corner,
Old men clustered around dead stories.
The blaze of red saris
The whiteness of beards and caps
And rice bubbling in mad milk
The pyramids of chopped timber
The shit and pee of overnight guests
The brownness of burnt gravy
And fistfuls of salt
Showered in benediction.
The glass eyes of perverted fish.
Since…
“Since when?”
“Since His last feast”.
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