UC Review

Let her be quiet with you and she’ll radiate, unfurl,
expand, and seep through the tarnished brass of a
hollow sax.

She left
the wine on the table last night, shards of
pigmented pomegranate sea glass staining
the seabed. The nectars that tumble from
her lips, are now strewn across the
varnished oak.

A sunflower
stands upright in the vase propped
against the mirror of her vanity table. A
miniature carousel horse, a necklace—
unfastened, a watch face held by two
worn straps and a rubber band.

Sweet bread dusted with icing sugar, all things
whole: bagels, brie, and French baguettes.
Wholesome goodness arrives with the waves that
kiss her shoreline. And it leaves with the leaves
that have escaped autumnal trees.

An understanding has been reached from
the contented sighs of half-finished bottles,
scattered pillows, and duvets pushed back
against the heat.

The clock, the sink, the creaking of the house all
amplified by her quiet.
There is safety in these hours; before late nights become
early mornings—tread softly.
Softly, softly, softly.

The TV is no longer being watched. She
inhales the guise of closeness and grieves its
ending. You are cocooned in her entirety,
but she, she is growing into her hands.

Kashi Syal is (barely) a '90s Brit Baby—she flits between South West London and Toronto. A lover of herbal teas, early mornings, and big cities.

This work appears in the Winter 2020 edition of the UC Review: Translation.