By on Apr 14, 2013 in Poetry

Watery scene

The lichens come up easily in my teeth,
and the bits of stone stuck to them don’t bother me.
My face is a curtain of rain,
it sinks into the ground
where I see insect nymphs starting to crawl,
and I am to them a warm fragrance, milk in the soil.
When I rise in the air, songbirds fly through me,
sharp wings against naked flight.
I borrow leaves from the trees to wear,
but they lick me clear; I drop as dew,
again biting the lichens, bitter green stones.


Born in the United States and raised in rural Ohio, A. Anupama's experience as a first-generation Indian-American woman gives a unique perspective to her writing. She is currently an MFA student at Vermont College of Fine Arts and received her BA in biological sciences from Northwestern University. She has been involved with medical publishing for the American Academy of Orthopaedic Surgeons and legal publishing for the American Bar Association. An attendee of the Hudson Valley Writers’ Center fiction workshop with David Surface, She has worked with Ralph Angel, Leslie Ullman, and Jody Gladding, and has recently become a contributor to Número Cinq Magazine. She has brought her love of yoga, Indian cooking, science, photography, and nature to her poetry. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Alembic, The Cape Rock, Diverse Voices Quarterly, Green Hills Literary Lantern, and Monkeybicycle. Her book, Kali Sutra Poems, was a semifinalist in the Annual Tupelo Press First/Second Book Award.