Jatinga, Assam

Shlagha Borah

Father says I will recognise it when it hits us—

Of course, I don’t understand. The roads are

winding and I am only a girl. This is how

I memorise light: it comes without warning.

I am eight and blinded by a supernatural

glare, a conic mirror above us. Our windshield

explodes, little prisms of glass shattered on the

highway in a zigzag line. Line of trucks behind

overtake collide corrode; even in this episode,

Father is still speaking: Look. This is how the bird dies.

We are the same, leaping into luster. Why do we keep

going despite our kin crashing? We see beauty and claim

it our nest. The men of Jatinga walk with axes, their

torches ablaze & primed. Wings on fire, eyes, spine, beak

failing the bird. Light touches her everywhere. Her body–

mine–heating, burning. What do men with axes know

about flight? They pick their prey gently, feed on fear.

Father says it is only a dream and, therefore, cannot hurt.

What does father know about us: danger sewn

on our wings? When it ends, I wake up a girl again.

about the author
Shlagha Borahr

Shlagha Borah

Shlagha Borah (she/her) is from Assam, India. Her work appears in Cincinnati Review, ANMLY, Salamander, Nashville Review, Florida Review, and elsewhere. She received an MFA in Poetry from the University of Tennessee, Knoxville and is an Editorial Assistant at The Offing. She is a 2024 Ruth Lilly and Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Poetry Fellowship finalist. She has received support for her work from Brooklyn Poets, The Hambidge Center, The Peter Bullough Foundation, Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, and the Vermont Studio Center, among others. She co-founded Pink Freud, a student-led collective working towards making mental health accessible in India. Instagram: @shlaghab Twitter: @shlaghaborah

Other works by Shlagha Borah


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