Wingword Poetry Prize 2020 Anthology

Father’s Shirt Gopi Kottoor Father's shirt Pegged on the clothesline.

I remember the day I wore my father's shirt Bulging at the arms And his soft paunch, Where I imagined the globe, Spinning As I lay by his side Hearing him snoring.

His snore Had a certain kind of bird music, Slipping somewhere along the bough, To a bright sudden frog croak.

And when he woke, He would take his bath, Run to the prayer room, dripping, Almost naked, Comb his balding head, As though it was still full of hair, And slip into his Terylene shirt The one I wore, But never told him about Bulging at the arms, His paunch.

How I became that day, His secret ghost.

My father's shirt, Pegged on the clothesline, Wet, That mother forgot To take back inside From the pouring rain.

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