Mithun Jayaram shares works from an ongoing experiment.
The sudden death of her youngest daughter so devastated Lily Polowski that she was unable to attend her funeral. Despite being heavily sedated, Lily still suffered from debilitating anguish over the loss of her beloved child.
She had been looking at a copy of Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11, when she looked up and saw him a few feet away, staring at her intently.
“You don’t want to get that,” he said, his voice calm but firm, like a parent addressing a child.
‘Hey God,’ he said quietly into the air, ‘I still got that empty feeling in my gut that I told you about this morning. Am I doing the right thing in going to Africa?’
A Visual poem by Leila Fortier
He can feel them
turning lazy cartwheels,
digging holes their exact diameter into his thoughts.
a bucketful of stars
across the black tarpaulin
If I were to be ever be here
I would see this
You zoomed in on the screen,
in the mist of Shillong
and colored the studio green.
While hiking in the wild
I picked it up on the trail
Hard like a diamond
Sleek like a mirror
Spent his life hunched over, carving
symbols with a bleeding hand.
Every night the same dream – an open sky
and a doorway with no key.
Every month, The Reading Room showcases a short story, or excerpts of a book, from some of the greatest writers the world has ever seen.