Turtle Soup
MEGANA DWARAKANATH
How funny—
The shell of a thing cooked in its broth.
I thought of bodies floating on the Ganges
Puffs of snowy toxic waste lapping at brown shins
Clean white of exposed bones cast their liquid cremation and
Staked to hopes that quickening turns of a river
Its blackened silt tracing an arc like a bent spoon
Elude the centripetal motion of samsara
What the water carries is up to us
But where is not.
MEGANA DWARAKANATH calls Pittsburgh home where she is a mother and physician. She loves reading, running long distances, trying to swim in ways that do not alarm the local lifeguards, and spending time with family and friends. She usually needs to iron her pants.
