Thank you, she said, for the trance, elation.
For the click click click of words falling into place.
For the clack clack clack of the knitting loom.

Breath is a silver fog. Birds build palaces.
Cross the lake. Join the jungle.

I see it!
Is that not what you said?
Let me try again. There was a city I left behind.
It drowned in rain.

Insect girls lived in jars, buildings walked on stilts.
The name had a bomb in it, had a mum in it.
Had a bay in it, had a bye in it…

Does that ring a bell? No?
Fragments of a word.
Brob. Ding. Nag.
I beg your pardon? How many languages do I speak?
Two, she said, pointing to her eyes
and her heart. Just two. And you?

Sampurna Chattarji

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