borderless

there was much	then July came	and slept that night
steepling of hands	taking a hot shower	without dreams
as if the surgeons	in our bathroom	and slept that morning
were trying to build	without a vent	without dreams
a church to house	our lawn steamed	and slept that afternoon
their inoperable religion	with hospice and morphine	without dreams
and it was June	and the nurses came	i made baingan bharta
and there were	with kind words	for dinner and as
too many corridors	the nurses left	the eggplant charred
the sun hadn’t begun	with kind words	under the broiler and
pushing its gurney of heat	the nurses came	i tempered
through the double doors	the nurses left	chili powder in oil
of summer	and it was time
and all the nurses	then it wasn’t time	i felt you
in their cartoon tops	and then it was time
asked for SSNs	and then you asked	like a sputter of oil
addresses	for saffron kulfi
insurance cards	and kitchari	burns skin
but you were	for daal makhani
borderless	malai kofta	i felt you sharp
the tumor	we fed you
cresting through	and you took a bite	and brief
your skull	from each
and we kept trying		and gone
to push it back in

Brittany Mishra helps make medical devices for a living and writes poetry as her passion. Her poetry can be found in Poet Lore, Spoon River Poetry Review, Painted Bride Quarterly, Sky Island, Chestnut Review, and MoonPark Review. Brittany lives in southwest Washington with her husband and daughter.