Githara Gunawardena
A Trespass
I think I remember
my first sun
yellow and warm
as early milk
I think I knew my mother
when she had hair to the hips,
in her college days,
just below her ears
in those pictures
with her hand on the bump.
I think
I am running through
the brief field
of sun-bleached fuzz
on her left arm and I think
I am there.
Even now
in this small corridor,
the earlobe of my father
I am there.
My mother liked to tug it,
‘out of love’ she would say.
I am falling asleep, so close
to both of them, again.
Contrapasso in Love
I hope our lips can still kiss
when our heads are on wrong,
looking over our shoulders.
I think we still will find each other
when the cold sea flays us
to the perfect bones
that it will leave at least
your weathervane jaw
thinning me out again
in sex and argument. I hope
there is room enough to sleep
far apart and sigh aloud
at three in the morning
as the wind burns us up,
I hope our new anatomy
brings us back together sooner.
Githara Gunawardena is a Sri Lankan student living in Wellington. She is in her fourth year of a literature degree at Te Herenga Waka Victoria University. Her work can be found in Starling and in Landing Press’s Potluck anthology.