Komo Ananda

2 poems

Spring, Last Year

One must have a mind of abandonment
to proceed, to strike out on the path, to break
up the day into slender slices—

When the two geese came to watch us
it was quarter past the fourteenth hour
it was pomegranate juice and mason jars

“They are going to lay their eggs there” she says
as the larger one paddles a circle the long way
around the cement island block

to then stand like a flamingo, neck craned upward
in a question mark over the plastic planter—
a solitary sentinel

All afternoon I have been a watchman:
the smaller one stands up in sudden certainty
deadlocked, ready for eye-to-eye combat.

 

Nor’easter

soft singular cotton tips mar
fleeting faces across a parking lot
blur all whites of eyes upon arrival

that sound is the sound
the wind the chickadee makes
is snow unexpected
expected to bare down
consuming routine

nothing but empty twigs
a choke hold on the opening cocoon
and the minute moth and minutia of wings
signaling no sound at all

 

Komo Ananda has a BA in German studies from the University of New Hampshire, and an MFA in Creative Writing from the New School. He attends Manchester Community College in Connecticut, where he is studying computer science. His poetry is published for the first time in Interim.