to my lacewing, with love; how you left; how i left

to my lacewing, with love 

your red 
voice sluicing around my
elbows, hissing like the 
moth on a sliced tube
-light, knowing how to 
breathe only in a moon
-less dream, tepid breaths,
scraping my hollow breast
-bone. a lock of hair, mine 
or yours, in the vial like a scare
-crow on my shoulder. the night you
kissed me, the amethysts on your lips bruised
eyespots, as you poured me a saccharine cup— milk
-weed and ginger. 
how you left 

like the cinnamon billowing 
around a sequinned laugh, we 
were given two silvers warmed
in our closed fists. so was the jerk 
whose jaw the sun broke on like crushed
ice and gooseberries. that’s the part I 
never seem to get. so what if we were 
sweetened marbles like a first girlhood
kiss? the Light touched us like a father
and blew us into women. now, that’s the part
I never seem to get.  
how i left 

like light thrusted into purple mouths,
acrid petals of piety for 
bread broken like gold shavings,
a womb painted softly— the black
-bird’s guilt on embers embossed
with my foremothers’ lamp-oil-stained 
knuckles buckling like a lady of the 
night curling into a smoked Venus. 


Sarah Aziz is a poet, translator and illustrator based in Kolkata, India. She is currently pursuing an undergraduate degree in English Literature at Loreto College, University of Calcutta. In 2021, her translation of Bangladeshi activist and author Pinaki Bhattacharya’s “History of Bengal: from Ancient to British Rule” was published. Her poetry appears or is forthcoming in The Good Life Review and Foglifter Press.