Ashley Somwaru

is an Indo-Caribbean woman who was born and raised in Queens, New York. She received an MFA in poetry from Queens College, City College of New York. Somwaru has recently published a chapbook in 2021 titled, 'Urgent \\ Where The Mind Goes \\ Scattered.' Previous work has been published in A Gathering Together, Peach Velvet Magazine, No, Dear Magazine, Solstice Magazine, and more.

Walking into the Morning-silent, Smoke-filled, No-children Allowed Room

…countless broken coconuts leak into the carpeted ground, cigarettes flame into the butts, bottles of Absolut are uncapped and poured into offering. An aunt lights the last diya, all lined in front images of the Goddess, where we imagine we are made from her soil and rooster spur clippings. They said back home, to have life, one must offer in return. A twanging dhantal, rusted and off tune. An Aji’s stuttering footsteps. Blood of a chicken, a boar, a lime. Lapsi patched with too much flour. Sugar cane skinned of knots. Tabla’s da din na da tu na. The Goddess’s glory lasts until the end of a page. A self-claimed pandit then starts calling for the Goddess’s counterpart, prayers unsatisfactory without calling forth male power. Mantras become garbled sound, impersonations, but still a plea, a chanting:

release release release release release release release release release

us from… a swollen stomach covered in black cloth… side eye… bathing in Rockaway beach to stock up nine wintery Sundays of blue cheeks… paddy fields without vegetation... Aja piling density to enter dreams… red cloth dug up from the garden… the ancestor that offered the first drop of blood… skin becoming pindas of rice and sesame seeds… home becoming a bucket of water infested with larvae.