Apostrophe: Amit Parmessur

Amit Parmessur

Where should I stick you when there is

no honeypot at the end of my name?

I have known you since I started zipping

pencil cases; you divide, but you are a rule.

Since my first prose, I have laboured

in erecting your head but you have always

denied me love and possession,

like the tear in grandmother’s death.

You have evolved, just like my language,

while my precocious tadpoles

have failed to become frogs.

Many forget you are a small 9 to be filled.

Many mistake you for a can of wriggling worms

and martyrize you in their elisions.

Many stumble in front or behind an s

because of you, if s there is.

Many suck their teeth for you.

Many forget you completely.

O Flying Comma, I need your bloody

blessing to stick the sibilance of success

to my name in the pool of poetry.

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Setu, April 2023