Jar Lids

Rahana K. Ismail

Her pickled Creole garlic,
mango brine, dosa batter
she closes
Sunday nights with,
Salmon Omega
he opens in a single twist
of time. Opening
his class act, a ritual from Farex mornings.

She felt ashamed of thinking about it
by the Stroke
ICU, yet again, feeding him kanji
in Room 453 Ward 7 Floor 2
and again at the pharmacy queue,
Ecospirin, Amilodipin, Warfarin
prayer/predator on her floored tongue
and at the closed-off D block
window, formaline crusted,
waiting for the second
mynah to show.

When she passed away
first, his still opened hands couldn’t come to close
the lid, hours getting stuck
at the last turn.

Unscrewed,
every open morning,
a gray jar.

Open on the table,
harvest ants, dust out of the blue mold,
dessicated years
dwelling

inside the raw jars,
their being being wafted out
to house the room.

Rahana K. Ismail is a poet and a doctor from Kozhikode, Kerala. Her work has been featured or forthcoming in nether Quarterly, Contemporary Haibun Online, Usawa Literary Review, the Chakkar, Alipore Post, Aainanagar, Hakara, Verse of Silence, EKL Review, Pine Cone Review, and elsewhere.