There’s tar on our hands, / asphalt, pitch, / that carbon-black earth stick / only oil can soften, / then soap. // It came from below...
Search Results For - S. Rupsha Mitra
September 1, 2021 The Elitist Trail and Other Poems By S. Rupsha Mitra The Elitist Trail It originates somewhere you don’t even recognize. Dungeons buried in the past, all self-proclaiming stereotypes in aeons — conditioned so well that...
burning grasses, burning trees,
fire
surging to form smoke, the shape of leaves,
meshwork, seeds, hiding somewhere behind the hills,
I turn to the trees, their truncated bodies like ghosts of women
in ashen amber sheaths.