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Breaking The Fast

Indra Dryden-Shaw

Autumn, 2022

now when I eat yoghurt and blueberries

I think of the way we couldn't look each 

other in the eye over the breakfast table

despite hours before spent nude and open,

iris to iris in the golden morning light

I crack open a pomegranate

and idly wonder

how many seeds it would take to never

again see the sun

except filtered through these cream curtains

delicate melanin laid out on a sacrificial altar

lauded by prayers for gooseflesh and shadow 

we both knew then and there that things

would feel different when we stepped outside

it’s easy to be fearless in a fort made of blankets

but then it’s time to take care of other human needs

how embarrassing to need to eat, to pee

and suddenly I’m afraid to sit beside you in the garden

amidst the honest tangle of trees

Indra works at a desk, writing poems and songs in-between completing actual adult tasks. She loves the park in the sunshine and the beach at nightfall, and thinking too much about most things. She wrote this poem on the first sunny day of April 2023.

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