I have forgotten who I am.

TOPSHOTS  Newly initiated 'naga sadhus' prepare to perform rituals on the banks of the Ganga River during the Maha Kumbh festival in Allahabad on Febraury 6, 2013.   During every Kumbh Mela, the diksha - ritual of initiation by a guru - program for new members takes place.   AFP PHOTO/Sanjay Kanojia

TOPSHOTS Newly initiated ‘naga sadhus’ prepare to perform rituals on the banks of the Ganga River during the Maha Kumbh festival in Allahabad on Febraury 6, 2013. During every Kumbh Mela, the diksha – ritual of initiation by a guru – program for new members takes place. AFP PHOTO/Sanjay Kanojia

 

My shoes are not where I left them.

There is a dog howling in the distance,
And the sound reverberates,
Lifting the dew off the dense canopy of trees outside.

The bamboo lamp beside the sofa,
Sheds dull orange light across the Persian carpet,
And I am not casting a shadow.

I have,

A mug of hot tea,
A roll of Maryland,
Chocolate chip cookies,
And bad breath.

I have forgotten who I am.

I seem to remember going down to the
Laundry room,
And watching her fold steaming towels,

Fat haunches, corpulent bust,
And a very fine neck.

♠picture – http://www.dirzz.com/1155490-topshots-india-religion-hindu-kumbhall1033898069

-short evocative poetry-

My name is Henry

short poetry, photography, new, fresh, ghost, gauze, faint, tenuous, dimension

The place I used to visit,
On bad days,
With yoghurt and spoon,
Is vacant.

The leaves are raked,
Into a neat pile,
By the bench,

And except for the newspaper,
Blowing about in the wind,
There is no-one here.

The river beyond,
Is a murky brown,
Same as it’s always been,

But,

Over the concrete balustrade,
On the sandy bank on the other side,
Is a briefcase.

Is it yours?

My name is Henry,
And I’ve been disappearing for years.

I can’t seem to find my way home.

 

photo – webstockpro.com

-evocative short poetry