in my soil
by Sara Basrai

I was naked in the park today
By the statue of a mounted Polish king,
A triumphant man with bronze swords
Surveying his newfound land
-- A mock castle on Turtle Pond.

I followed his gaze not expecting
My skin and experience to slip away
(I thought he was disappointed)
And make a snail’s spiral
In puddles on the ground,

Or within watery ringlets observe
The Age,
The man,
The child,
(the defining heartbeats of my life) fade away.

In time, I raised my head,
And saw a scarf flicker,
Turquoise within silver lines,
A yellow raincoat bend to sow
A paper beaker fly to cranberry lips
And a dog dart golden on the horizon.

I thought the dog smart,
Knees, elbows, angles pumping
In rain tinged with russet bracken.

It was a little thuggish this sudden nakedness
The timing a little off.

I had lists to make. Anguishes to despair over.
But I told myself, the dog, the scarf
Not to rush the rain.
Not that I was in awe of nature
Or the Polish king;

I was simply in my soil.

Sara Basrai is a former teacher from London who now lives in New York. Her move to the USA inspired her to start writing. Her work appears in The Battered Suitcase, a soon-to-be published anthology published by Vagabondage Press, Smoking Poet, Grey Sparrow Press,  Protestpoem.org, 34th Parallel Magazine, among others. She begins at MFA in September at National University. Besides writing, Sara enjoys reading, painting and exploring the USA with her husband and two young daughters.

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