Autopsy Report By Akhila Bandlora

Autopsy Report

The woman has a name.
Two dead,
a still-born lodged
between the ribs;
The buses careen past her,
the passengers
see a body
before they see a sister;
They tell the driver
to speed up–
and lean back,
They’re safe.
The rain washed rangoli
onto her lips,
Jalebi-glazed eyes synthesize.
Peel back her saree,
Tucked under the side of her blouse,
Lakshmi waits.
Saliva thickens when you add lentils;
simmer on a low heat–
ready to serve.
No one eats;
The food gets cold,
It crusts over.
the soles of her feet
tuck seeds under the dirt,
but they’ll never break bedrock,
Leave that to the apple trees,
Their white flowers
will never soften her landing.
The cause of death:

By Akhila Bandlora


Akhila Bandlora, a sophomore at BASIS Phoenix, resides in Arizona. She has been awarded eleven times regionally through the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, where she serves as co-president of her local affiliate. Additionally, she has been formally published by Young Authors of Arizona and fromthebowseat.

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