New Voices [02]: Curry


It was just curry at the end of the day.
Big oozing dollops of it served up on chips,
Eyes streaming from vinegar sting.
That stubborn stench that sticks to your hands
Makes you wonder how you could ever love it.
But you do, you always will.
It was curry that brought me back
To the end of a long shopping trip in the rain,
To the drive we took in the country,
Mr. Diamond crooning in the background.
Funny that it’s curry.
You didn’t even make it that often.

I can’t make it now. Can’t stomach it.
I’m stained for good.
You’re gone and my eyes are streaming.
No vinegar necessary.

We are currently accepting submissions to our regular features: MONOGRAPH (a group of poems by a single author) and New Voices (poets aged 18-30 who have yet to publish a full collection).

Please read the full requirements on our Submissions page, before sending your work.


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