Damodar. Hazaribagh.

in time you and i will cross the river

the pebbles and sand will wet our feet.

once I looked down from the ledge

near the burnt cottage where

a kindly doctor and his family fed you oranges

when you walked home from school, six and alone.

further, downstream where the river bends

general chiangs’ men built a fort while

the mother of my mother held back blood

and discarded intenstines, limbs and parts.

some places are meant for the desperate,

those without a corner to whisper.

I only recall a brave woman in the dark.

you and i will cross the river remembering

how it looked from the doctors’ hillock

knowing we are crawling across the floor of the world.