Every time I eat peanut M&M;'s
I think of you.
That one time we shared a bag
and you ate all the yellow ones.
I didn't know why,
I didn't ask.

Every time I eat peanut M&M;'s
I think of you.
Now you're engaged
and I haven't seen you in years.
I don't know why,
I don't ask.

Every time I eat peanut M&M;'s
I think of you.
Those high school days together
and how we never got any any closer
then a bag of peanut M&M;'s.
I wonder why?

So
you're a bad idea
in all ways
and it's true
I play a part
somewhat to blame
but let's just forget about that for a sec
because I want to remain
the good girl
innocent and pure of heart
all intentions correct
and yet
I want to be the bad one
that parents tell their kids
to avoid-
breathing the same air
will result in immediate need
of exercision-
I want your respect,
for you to be a gentleman
but maybe
I just think you're cute.

i love to write poetry with food
the clickety-clack of the knife on the dining board is my metre
the veggies going choppity-chop are the words
the masalas are the embellishments
that lift them to another level altogether
the pressure cooker whistles,
something in the frying pan sizzles
the flavours rise and fill my home
with the smell of cooking
the gravy thickens
the pulse quickens
in anticipation of the tasting
the aromas tease as i’m tempering
a little coriander for the topping
and I’m done!
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   09.09.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

utatane ni
koFisiki Fito wo
mitesi yori
yume teFu mono Fa
tanomisometeki


As I dozed
The man I love
Appeared, so
It is dreams that
Have begun to comfort me.

“and everywhere there’s statues with their arms open wide
surrounded by fences that you, you can’t get inside”
- Jay Brannan


Let’s call her by her name, Statue of Strip Your Nationality.
When she came into this world she was copper as a battery, shiny.
She was broken into fractions of herself, placed on a boat,
shipped across an ocean and constructed in the name of Libertas,
the Roman goddess of freedom.
Don’t kid yourself, she’s French-American. At best.
She’s embarrassed to admit the number of tourists she’s had
climb inside her for a taste of her liberty.
Bring me your decency!
Bring me your hollow promises!
Bring me your cameras!
Take pictures of the things we believe in.
Bring these pictures back to our ancestors and show them.
Mira! Look! Voir! This is what freedom buys!
Us. And our statues. Frozen.
There’s a metaphor standing between New York City and Staten Island
and she’s ******* cold.
We couldn’t even give her shoes- how symbolic.
She’s been standing barefoot in the middle of the Atlantic wearing less than a jacket on the coldest of winter nights, eyes locked and begging for a place to call home.

When was the last time you stood with that much conviction
for anything?

screams of systematic repetition

tuned to the key of C

rejuvenating the pulse

of the pulp on the floor



I found the time space continuum

on my back porch swing

stepping toward the screeching sirens

revealing the past scene by scene



Timing the sun in wrist-watch format

the liabilities not mine

the doormat said "welcome"



you catch my eyes glaring,

hastily waiting for your tears to run

your feet follow in suspended motion



Gunning for the hallway laundry chute

only to find the triggers on safety

the notion alone is enough



resetting the sun dials

with steady hands of anxiety

attacking the knobs at their fastens

My subtle brutality breaks


as

I awake on the kitchen floor

while the screeching of the sirens pull me in

When I was young and bold and strong,
Oh, right was right, and wrong was wrong!
My plume on high, my flag unfurled,
I rode away to right the world.
"Come out, you dogs, and fight!" said I,
And wept there was but once to die.

But I am old; and good and bad
Are woven in a crazy plaid.
I sit and say, "The world is so;
And he is wise who lets it go.
A battle lost, a battle won--
The difference is small, my son."

Inertia rides and riddles me;
The which is called Philosophy.