The setting of Autumn reminds me of a few things by Devika Mathur

The setting of Autumn reminds me of a few things:

1)

I think about the forgotten summers—

my village and the giant karonda tree,

my grandma’s cotton fabric,

the plastered smile—

unlike most of the grandmas, mine never loved me much,

she would tame my hair with coconut oil often

and would return to her not so loving acts

but this poem is not about that—

this is about my days in shimmer

with frolic skirts

and the bicycle in the backyard.

 2)

 This is about a cling wrap,

my mother,

and my pink water bottle,

days of sincerity with a fulminating heart

ineluctable stares

and a mix of berries inside the mouth.

3)

My sister’s hand—

a long pause of a subtle evolution,

words and movements

bleached lawn

powdered nose, cheeks chuffed and filled

Earth’s whole skin as if is my home—

 4)

This is about a mixtape

and a burrow in the mud

twigs and charred shells

snap,

clap—

about tendons and bones

everything chewable, everything bromidic

and sparse—

this poem is —‘me’ and

all the possible transitions

of the Sun and God's thunder.

Devika Mathur is an Indian poet, writer, educator, and editor. Her work has appeared in The Alipore Post, Madras Courier, Modern Literature, Two Drops of Ink, Dying Dahlia Review, Pif Magazine, Spillwords, Duane's Poetree, Piker Press, Mojave Heart Review, Whisper and the Roar, and more. She is the founder of Olive Skins and the author of Crimson Skins. Her poetry is also featured in Sunday Mornings River, Parcham, and Poets Espresso Review.