Under the Patio
My body, a hood pulled tight around childhood—
Tove’s long and narrow coffin you must climb out of on your own.
Little dream, should I embalm or digest you?
Everywhere the same leak spills out of the earth,
centuries shimmering like a warning. Doctor, do you feel the nest
of intestine coiling around the red rod of my voice?
I am always here, watching the mint leaves grow spines in the dank
crawl space. Bringing them home on muddy hands and knees where you
will ask, what if it’s not too late to tend the rosemary and jasmine?
I am rising from our tomb, grandmother,
watch as I pull your tilted laughter up my throat,
a string of knotted silks in cinnamon and clove.
Remember me as a magician who escaped
the shadows under the pipal tree and lived our life.
Note: This poem references the following quote from Childhood, the first of three memoirs by Tove Ditlevsen. “Childhood is long and narrow like a coffin, and you can’t get out of it on your own…”
Christy Agrawal graduated from SUNY Geneseo in 2016. She currently lives in Santa Barbara with a sleepy little dog, where she’s pursuing a master’s degree in library science. She’s worked in a variety of fields since graduating and currently spends much of her time making jewelry and grooming dogs. She’s a big believer in the importance of poetry and has been published in journals such as Switchgrass Review and Gandy Dancer.