the universe is a single
mother to more children she can send to bed, happy;
she does not have time for scraped knees
and fallen baby teeth, anymore
.
but in frostbitten cemeteries on winter afternoons;
the ground blooms into a paper ceiling
over a world of disappearing flesh and bone
winning a war against a dark eternity
.
the underworld bursts into celebration
when days drenched in honey fuel it's auburn fire,
and for a split second, nobody in the world is aware of the gravity
of fire and ice intertwining
.
which is to say,
when life and death make love over wet gravel;
the world morphs into a blank canvas,
frayed at the edges and specks of charcoal and marblestone linger over it,
like the aftermath of a star exploding
About the poet:
Pritha Jain is a seventeen summers old, science student, who fights things that make her uncomfortable by writing poems about them. To delve deeper into the world of this poet(-in-progress?), head to https://prithajain.wordpress.com. You can also find her on Instagram @pr.iiiii