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

Today, I have gone back to where the waves come in gentle folds. They break at my feet and explode into foam. The wet sand holds onto my footprints — little dug outs that are soon filled with clear salty water.

Far from shore, waves move sideways. Only their lips peak from the purple water. The ship that traces the crescent, haloed in red, can rescue me but it is too far to reach.

Two thin coconut trees criss-cross behind me, they are tired of waiting to bear fruit. They let their drying branches droop, branches brown as my arms. Their fronds draw fly away stripes in the sand.

A wind blows from the sea, rushing a wave towards me. The large roll quickly swoops to a sly lap.

What if I were to stay to see the end? But I am pushed back by the wave to the one who is sitting on the verandah and hemming my skirt with pursed lips, in the dimming light.