Unusual Locations for the Love-struck Youth


The sewer gurgles, a tunnel
Sparsely lit, except by electricity
Thrumming against two ribs.
Night, a sleepless mother
Knits four polar stars in a tapestry of 
Cars rumbling above like
Unfiltered claps 
Of thunder. 

The dark can knot into oily
Creations found at the split ends of her mind.
But maybe it was the way
Their spindle fingers
Looped around anecdotes,
Preserved like 50¢ candy wrappers,
And secrets,
Recovered from collapsed caves,
That made it tolerable.

The sewer bloats,
A rush of crackling garbage bags. 
But their elf ears attune
To the sound, 
Likening putrid water to
A stream where they can place
A boat,
Tucking in their small selves.

Malvika (17) believes that crafting words requires patience. The night is her refuge and poetry is one avenue to spill her thoughts. She is part of her schoolís debate team and is an apt reader of The New York Times.

Malvika Manoj