Scenery In Which Butterflies Shatter Indiscriminately
By Ahana Chakraborty
Concrete roads teethe on telephone wires.
Feed the birds-cum-angels. Thousand-eyed.
The only living deer in the world
is a taxidermist.
Hold the pocket knife if / how it wants to be held.
A keepsake: heart in a plastic bag
tied with nylon strings plus
a fogged up rearview mirror.
Orange butterflies mean someone dead
is thinking of you. Dead orange butterflies
line your shoelaces. Six bullets in a chamber.
Sister is to rifle what brother is to knife.
Chop chop chop, bang! says the kitchen counter.
The aorta wraps tightly around
the arms of your revolver.
Anatomy of a mistake.
The only living boy in the city—
earthworms feed on his mouth.
Ahana Chakraborty is a 13-year-old student from India. She is greatly inspired by the writings of Anne Carson, Ada Limón, Hanif Abdurraqib and Kaveh Akbar. Her work is forthcoming in the twenty-second issue of The Shore.