I pause an evening road

Prabakar T. Rajan

Trash torments itself,
whipped in self loathing
against naked winter scrub
along the highway. All

that clamors here is folly
strewn as splintered haste, swept
to the fur and tender milk

of reeds. I feel a kinsman’s need
to lean on this endless shoulder.
I too am too many old tyres
and feel horizonless.

I’m driving over to help
a friend hold his wife
up, so we can all defy death
remembering her.

We’re not afraid of death
anymore. But grief
is another matter.
And desire’s cruelty.

I’m done, I said to an evening sky
meaning I could die peaceably
being content from all I’d had

and then the other day,
how moon you are
I thought to say

to the delivery boy
though he had turned,
his thick hair tangled
on a stalk of fuzz.


Prabakar T. Rajan is a poet and physician who divides his time between Boston, Massachusetts, and Chennai, India. His poems have been published in Icon, Skylight 47, Open Space (India), Blu Slate, and The Boston Globe. He loves Rembrandt’s self portraits, and the poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins.

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