BRAIDS by Krisha Wignarajah

CONTENTS

It is raining...

Braids

Birds have wings...

Flies buzz...

It is evening...

Grade Two

I go home...

Wellawatta Outdoor Bazaar

Curfew

Amappa's Eyes

Islands

I reached out...

Evening Walk

Awakening shadow...

The Flight

A Robin's Bath

The Heron and the Swan

War on a Mango

Tea with Dadda

Granite Stone

Sigh with the wind...

Today, I have gone back...

About the Poet

Acknowledgements

Chapbook Home

Friday Circle Home

Braids

by Krisha Wignarajah

It is raining and the ground is littered with muddy puddles. Tea with milk. The mango leaves drip making loud splotches. Everything is noisy, oppressive.

The sea is gray and rough. The beachers have long gone home. The train tracks glisten in the dull gray light.

Hawkers still hawk their wares, now covered in plastic. Bits of raw fish spill on roadsides turning the water run-off red. Smells of rot fan over by the breezes.

No, rain was never meant for islands. Everything must be sunny and bright — the postcards say so.