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      November 10, 2021GrasslandsAjay Sawant

      Over the end of fall
      the children were singing—
      of earth frozen to ice
      with albino rages, rhapsodic storms
      and the scent of the last tomatoes
      of the harvest
       
      The children’s throat parched
      On the day of the circus
      all the caged birds were lying dead
      The pasture which once served
      daisies to the heifers
      was low with seed heads under blanket
      of warm dirt
       
      While this will wed the trees
      another ring,                   some
      will stay asleep overlong
      The pennons will place a burial
      into a cotton ball
       
      We bury ourselves in blankets
      with our people
      Tonight in this freezing barn
      I find more warmth            than
      any other day

      from #73 – Fall 2021

      Ajay Sawant

      “I am an Indian student, editor, and artist brought up in Mumbai and Pune of Maharashtra. My poems oscillate between modern, post-colonial, and post-freedom times. Poetry is the strongest medium of expression. My poems come from my experiences and stories told by grandmothers, uncles, and grandfathers. The unique setting—with climate, culture, flora, and fauna—considerably influences and adds up to my writing style.”

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