Today's poem is by Ellen Kombiyil
Cerberus and Persepone
It's audible to the three-headed dog:
her fear a high-pitched shriek
held in her throat. Pre-unleashed. The thought
of the shriek and not the shriek itself.
It's freaking her out, this mind-reader dog,
how he tracks muscle-twitch, her intent to act,
pre-synapsed. He demands to know the before,
before the before: she was plucking flowers,
yes, when the ground opened its mouth,
but how she arrived at this exact spot,
how slowly she chewed and what she ate
for breakfast, how she slipped, stepping
onto the bathmat, her precise existence
at this particular momentthe two-, no
three-second pause at the four-way stop.
Indelible decisions. The luck
of the draw. The dog deciphers
eye-flicker, delves past thought in search of
the anatomy of thought, which moves
like starlight, born but the reaching delayed,
which moves like the gorgeous dark.
He's doing it again, she thinks,
and he reads that, too. In his pupil-black,
black surrounded by gold flecks, she sees
the pre-patterned repetition
of next and next and next her mouth, stained red;
she will not be leaving this place, not yet.
This future splits away like a cannonboom
of sound. Calla lilies, held fast,
she lets drop. The great winding of a clock.
Copyright © 2015 Ellen Kombiyil All rights reserved
from Histories of the Future Perfect
The (Great) Indian Poetry Collective
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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