Sonali Guttikonda

in branson my world distilled into lake and slowed to the crawl of a white chris craft and a southern drawl i was baptized and born again to a new religion blue dashers dancing atop the lake, light strokes across the heavy landscape, eagles fly & bowriders call & there i was, stagnant and black against the holy water in the land stretching its fingers to god

but was it god or ghosts that made this promise land? voices in the wind of my kin asking me where i’ve been wondering how long it would take me to reclaim the land promised to them to jump unshackled in the lake and let them watch me swim

and what if i drown in a memory of all they were amongst chosen people too proud & too taught to bleed red

and me still black against the water and black as the swing of the trees

and me trying hard to be blue like a dasher or water or sweet like honey golden light

black as whatever breathes at the bottom of the basin and the undercurrent it came through and wishin still to rise to dance in the wind like the stars and stripes from the back of the boat in flight

the first thing i saw when i finally opened my eyes.

Life of 5 Afgani

Sonali Guttikonda

Mani (autumn) Mani, A festival of change with red gold spiraling, Covering the vibrant road. Vivid dancers, Dressed in rich colors, Moving with the weeping, Trees, Taking joy, From their pain. Shadowed By the magnificent Kush People, Cherishing the gifts of fall, While, it dies Slowly, Painfully. The last of peace, Of joy. A cold beauty, Nothing more. The kind of beauty that guides A heartless shadow.

Seoray (shadow) Seoray, Cold, Evil. A blanket, Of ash Thick, Horrid. A comfort for some, A sorrow for others.

A force, More powerful, than the shine, of light. Our bright colors, obscured, by thick black burqas. Seoray, the last thing we see, Before we submerge, Into the depths of shadow. Haunted by The bones of our people

Taikha (escape) Taikha, Swift, Quiet. The brush of twigs, the black of night. Stars softly, Shine the way. Enslavers pursue, Nimbly weaving through, Mangled trees. Shots ring out, Bright cuts Adorn my skin Hope dims, And then I realize, Death is close.

Marheena (death) Marheena, Dark, Beautiful. Desolate. A wasteland, Thick with smoke. My shadowed burqa falls, I hear A sound: