Soham Patel


Sitting in sticky heat thinking of Robert Hayden's poem,
"Those Winter Sundays," where he was with a blue-black
cold, while I am skinning like maroon here at August's start.
And there is no electricity in the village to make the ceiling
fan spin, so I just gaze up at the layer of gray dust, puffing up
from the ends of each angry painted blade wanting to cut the air.
I'm afraid to try and wipe it clean because I see that the whole thing
is only hanging on by a single, fraying wire.

Location: Anand, Gujarat, India
Occupation: Lecturer, Anand Arts College
Publications: Cranky Literary Journal, DUB Magazine

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