Wheel of
I
Kaleidoscope in the corner of my
frame of reference, turning
Constant motion contained in her
figure. Panels of mirror
in the wash cycle
Reflecting rotating patterns, on Auto
Each of six
My historian of the innards has
shining breath
The historian of my
Tucked in, the other side of bed
She’s gems,
resting on my mattress
Under creased sheets and duvet
Back against headboard
Blue eyes closed
I, a bearded man, lie
Conversation like butter, between yawns
Filler dialogue, sure
Tracing backwaters and buried thorns,
beneath dermal layers, wading into the waste
She shows me ships floating, confused,
on crushed Crayola waves
II
Samsara –
Aunty Maria twists it for a girl’s eye
New colours and wonder under
cardboard
Dark lashes joining the roiling fold
A 20-rupee gift in two thousand and four
Wrapped in old news, hot hands. We’re
III
walking Marina Beach to avoid stigmata
Puckered red
wounds, wet roses
We’re forgetting
the order of each Station
Sandals under sun, skirts sticking
“Perhaps purpose is best found in our everyday acts”
“Yeah, maybe I could believe that”
Riya (she/her) is a youth worker living and writing on unceded Wurundjeri land. She values the sense of community that poetry can create and cares about making creative spaces more accessible. You can find her work on stages, as well as in Verge 2021 and Baby Teeth Journal.
Locative Magazine 