Kaeya Zui Kumar-Reddy

Kaeya Zui Kumar-Reddy studies Biology and Creative Writing at Warren Wilson College in Asheville, North Carolina, where she plays guitar with the Jazz Ensemble and works in the College AutoShop. She recently published her short story "Look Me in the I" in Out of Print Magazine: The Short Story Online. She will be returning to her home in Bangalore, India for an indefinite period of time to love her lovelies, dogs and parents.

 

Three Poems (May, 2015. Issue 50.)

Nefarious internet activity

I will start to write shopping lists

and save them,

for later.

along with love letters

and pressed flowers

...

An old man in Dorset

pays good money

for my underwear.

I imagine his house overlooks a meadow

and apple trees

and that he plays the piano when it rains.

I imagine he enjoys a good crumble

and earl grey tea

I wonder if he gets his mail sent to the local pub

or if he drives to the only post office

early monday morning

before he heads to the bank

and I wonder about his shopping lists.

I hope for them to say

fresh bread

1 dozen eggs

2 slabs of butter

and 1 jar of marmite

...and I would hope that they didn't say
canned soup.

if they ask you

If they ask you what its like
to make love to a god
tell them that its
really fucking wet.
This is Shiva
meditating
on a snow covered mountain
and you are Parvati
playing with jasmine
in his lap.
Say it like this
“Sweetness, babycakes,
all you used to know;
some heavy breathing
up and down
upside down
that's all over
this is the real shit.”
Tell them that you know
exactly what it feels like
to churn the entire ocean
with just your body.
And say this too
it's the sweetness of your grandmother
rocking you to sleep on her lap
singing bala jo jo re.
It is all sweetness.
Say that as every bit of your skin
is kissed
a thousand times
the bits of universe that were in Krishna's mouth
now cover the base of your back
all the way down to the
soles of your feet.
Say that the gods know what its about
because it feels like
lying on the cold stone floors
of that temple in the rocks
with parrots flying above you
and it tastes like honey.
Vanilla, cinnamon, cardamom
something.
Say it like this
“Sugar, forget about the afterglow
this is next level shit.”
This is blazing light
and Kalki riding his white horse
with a sword drawn to
wipe-you-out.

And when it happens
you close your eyes
you toss your head back and laugh
you're dancing
in the light
it's warm
and wonderful ``
you disappear
into it
and he follows you
You leave behind you
warm light
and a white horse
that runs through the streets.
 
Things I say to myself...out loud...sometimes

You are a sickness. You don’t belong here. It is a shithole. You are meant for better things. You were spun out of silver cobwebs. You were hung on the corners of my bed. You are a madness. Borne from nothing out of nowhere. Born in the bottom half of my brain. You snuck out at midnight. You are a sly motherfucker. You carve moon shapes into gravel stones. You draw water into ribbon like curtains. I hang those on the corners of my bed.

The rain took with it the paper boats we left in the streets.
They said at night you must dance for us, dream of us.
We drew on them maps to the soles of your feet.

On days like this we were told to hold our fists closed tight. Breathe like we couldn't. And speak like we mustn't. The water will wash over our duckbacks and I will write to your oblivion.

The Legendary