Her Drop of India
It was. As he
Said of stone. A temple
Silver carved
Up doors. Ceilings of
Lotus bloomed. Outside
In dirt a Kolam. An entrance
Ran itself. ‘Round
A spiraling she. Bent
A doorway. Through millions
Over thousands—
Years to bow. As he said
It would have been. Flames
Of camphor billowed out. Lives
Alluded to in breath. The sun
And she—vermillion faces bared. Un
Wrecked. Wornly rough and
Smoothed in stone—the oil.
In blessing she becomes
Clink—just one of mumbling
Chant-bare feet upon. Marigold grains
Rice of no solitary thrum. This
He did not submit—the suddenness
Of sound’s armistice. And her?
’Twas all evaporation’s trick.
And nothing. No
Nothing
Of her resisted.
Jessica Rigney is a poet, artist, and filmmaker. Listen to her voice & see moving pictures here. She is twice a quarter-finalist for the Pablo Neruda Prize for Poetry (2016 & 18.) Sample her poetry at Salomé and Cider Press Review. She is poetjess on Instagram.
