Noyaux
By Anita Mohan


 
Skipped syntax of months brought
me to a clinic five stories above a glittery
black pavement. I think I saw

an albatross hanging out
on the roof, watching people swim in traffic like
ferries in a shining asphalt sea.

They show me a single dark kernel floating
In bleach blue pain like a lone star, like a stone,
like a sea bird and they siphon part away.

Call the stone of an apricot noyaux-
one face tastes bitter, the other tastes like almond.
My body thumped a-rhythmic, as if

They halved the kernel and flung the almond half
with its sweet mystery overboard as lagan.
If an albatross or star, I hope it flew, but I think

It was a stone. Doctor X fished my body from its
Sandy sleep, its eyes half-shuttered, he fed
my puffy mouth fruit juice and

graham crackers, but see here,
there was no miracle, there was no buoy,
and the almond sunk, was lost at sea.

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