things that cannot be
you cloth me again
circle me
with conch linen
of a bed stripped naked
once,
for skin on skin
twice,
for prayer parched lips
thrice,
for things that cannot be
you circle and then
you stop
facing me
—no white elephants—
eyes bare—hands empty—lips blue—
as blue as the earth that I moved
the first time
just to hold your hand
By Phusathi Liyanaarachchi
Biography
Phusathi Liyanaarachchi is a poet from Sri Lanka. She graduated with a BA (Hons) in English from the University of Colombo. Her work has previously appeared in Love in the Time of Covid: A Chronicle of the Pandemic and Indian Literature. She is currently seeking a home for her debut poetry collection, ‘Becomes Water’.