Poems from Harshita Tripathi
Don’t call me beautiful when your hands have become wrenches
prying open my legs.
Your eyebrow raising into your hairline as you...
weave your fingers
through my hair as
a spider weaves its
web.
cocoon me in your
arms,
encased, cradled,
warm.
how do you do that?
keep...
I forgive you for never playing the part you were given. For never being a “normal” father. I forgive you for playing daddy to other...
I read the Bible to you
but you searched for God
at the end of alcohol bottles
drunken lips and broken mind
tongue that spoke of every name...
1. Crime scene
Bodies open on the floor, bloodied hands, torn chests. Ribcage split open, hearts ripped out. We became a crime scene....