This piece is part of the Mehfil folio, which features original art by Jasjyot Singh Hans.

for Anaya and Naina 

I have clothed my home in rust mustard, 
and burnt umber for exactly this 
wax paper harmony with autumn’s dry curl. 
Exactly this branch     bleed of charcoal 
tapping the pane. The cats and I worship any surface 
with a grain, a little bristle, brush. We rub our backs 
watching warblers come to fisticuffs 
for one cozy perch in particular. This is what I learned 
the hard way to call precious. This color-song 
and silence.
I cannot sell it with a power bleached smile. 
It does not save me points with American Express. 
Yes, my womb will remain empty. It’s true, I still sneak 
a cigarette now and then, and yes, my degrees 
are mostly decorative, like the ink 
under my skin that I also chose, and paid for.     
And yet, even so, little ones, 
even in this stillness 
with all my aches devoid of answers, 
you should know: 
I am so, so alive