He ate while the riverboat waited for passengers to board. Then he took off the cloth cover of the birdcage, set the cage on his thighs and began feeding the myna with leftover sweet rice.
When my mother opened my bedroom door and asked me if I was responsible for the house shaking, my initial hypothesis dissolved the way a spiderweb fissures with the help of a swaying hand.
Without One Plea (and other poems)
I might have been content with looking/ out a window early mornings over coffee, two more hours/ of overtime the only thing I’m thinking.