Two Poems by Nina Bahadur

with the things that happened
and the bad words and the stupor
and three days with the blinds down

with the ten-dollar coffee maker
and the air conditioning coughing
and the dimes in our tequila fund

with the boys on the fifth floor
and their fishbowls and their phone numbers
and their alarms set at 5:45

with our navy blazers at the dry cleaners
and my grapefruit halves for breakfast
and the tab from the bankers

with the 6 train at night
and a barbershop quartet through the tunnel
and fake eyelashes on his bedstand

with our heels lined up by the door
and the visitors and the guacamole
and a packet of condoms

and a drink at five-thirty
and a dinner at eight
and a drink at eleven-fifteen
and a club after midnight

and the phone always ringing
and my raised arm on the corner

Did you know that people can double themselves
and spit someone else out?

I do now. Under my scar from a falling lamp, I feel
sand shifting and a dark, stabbing knot. A mussel
torn right off a rock, shards left behind, triangles
of navy and pearl-white smashed in on themselves.

I feel full of water, I slosh, there is a tide.
I hear it when I lie down.

About the author

Nina Bahadur is a Londoner who now studies in the United States. She has been published in Magma and Pomegranate Poetry, and is currently…

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Issue 15 · June 2012

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