Fall 1991 • Vol. XIII No. 4 Poetry |

The White Piano

Water on a blade, paddy grows, the Sun shreds the night, newborn kingsfish old wormsfrom shiny pools. Tears on lotus blossom, blood birdshunt for pups; as the white piano among cherry blossoms, is mufflered, brandiedin a country of snow petals, a black man walks the heath at midnight, and dancesto the tablas of demons, the veena of a boywho plays marbles under the white Sunof Jaffna, and smiles at the red blue and yellow balls—until the axe falls, and his head rolls under the tree—and scavengers come, gloved, to pick each eye apart. When you cover upthe Sun, just slightly, the orange of that moment blocks the day, before you open up your face and burn into the light.

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