Creation Myth and Other Poems
Written by Nisha D'Cruz, Illustrated by Natasha Provan - August 13th, 2020
Creation Myth
this body sits pretty at bars angles hips and shoulders just so tilts head to laugh exposes naked neck for the taking this body taped up tits unreal waist non-existent organs displaced under strobe lights sweat glistening eyes wide lips parted this mouth a cavity this mouth gasps moans screams stays shut stays silent speaks when spoken to this body fucks like it loves you this body is casual this body is cool afterwards this body is held or this body gives you space this body lets itself out this body calls itself an uber this body wanders dimly lit alley ways this body clenches fists this body picks up the pace this body get itself home safe this body leaves nothing behind this body exhales finally this body guts itself this body deboned this body pitted fruit this body hollow offering this body caves in this body a shallow grave this body crumbles this body made of mud and spit this body the weeping firmament this body the moment god said LET THERE BE LIGHT this body bursts into being this body swallows you whole
Hot Yoga
The studio smells
like sweat,
heaters humming.
I lie flat on my back-
corpse pose.
The air is suffocating.
Familiar.
Presses heavy on my face.
Bodies contort-
sinewy flesh,
lean calves,
sunlight catching
in the crease of an elbow.
Arch your back.
Hollow out
your stomach.
I try to be empty.
My arms and legs
refuse to cooperate.
I shudder, shake,
curl down-
child’s pose.
A droplet of sweat flung onto my skin-
cooler than expected,
not my own.
Find your breath.
Find the stillness.
I make a mental note
to pick up bananas
on the way home.
Practice concludes
with a unified ommm,
and then namaste.
I remember the mosquito coils my grandparents would burn in our rooms each night,
embers flaking off into ashy piles.
To keep the insects out,
to keep our blood safe.
Between Us
He lies on his stomach, face turned away from me, hair falling across
eyelids almost
translucent, trembling in sleep, skin like silk pink lips partially parted, breath
heavy on exhale,
brows furrowed. I try to discern his dreaming, the places he goes without me;
his body jerks
almost violent and still I press myself against the small of his back, his brown
body broken,
sleep interrupted; I stroke his forehead like a small child, feel the warm flesh
beneath palm
watch his jaw unclench, trace the taut veins in his neck, rub the knots
in his shoulders
think of how I would die for this man, but would this man die for me? And what
is love if not
raw knuckles, if not heavy hand around my throat, heavy weight in the pit of
my stomach?
He sleeps and dreams, and what is love if not this pull in my chest, if not this ache
to be inside him?
To dream what he dreams, to see what he sees, to live in his throat and feel
each breath
drag against my back? And what is love if not to be consumed, devoured
in one bite;
and so, I make myself small, make myself easy on his palette, easy on his eyes,
in his eyes
and with his eyes closed he stirs, reaches for me in sleep, and what is love if not
instinct, if not
hunger? If not the spider web of intimacies spun between us? The stretching out
of our arms
to hold each other faces in the early morning light.
"These poems are about moving through the world in my body, a brown body – and being grounded in this body, experiencing loneliness, anger, desire, grief, love and all the complex emotions I struggle to articulate. Often I feel like they’re too much and I’m going to burst out of myself, and yet this body remains the most consistent thing in my life, always – and I’m learning to feel at home in it and be gentle with myself."
- Nisha D'Cruz