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Ceiling fan
August 23, 2022
I hold on
pinned down by its
hurricane eye.
loose melodies pucker
in blades
that braid hot air
with summer shivers
I grasp my breath in between
and I think
about home.
the ceiling fan plucks at air
a sitar,
drums on my words
like a tabla.
better just to breathe
and become a dupatta
twirling nowhere
fast
in a hum against
the tumbling yellow sky
as life
becomes background noise.
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A ceiling fan is an emblem of my life back in India when I was young. The ceiling looks empty now, and I feel as though I've lost something I used to be a part of.