Swimming in the Sun

After several failures,
this one’s heart beat lit up
the monitor like a full moon.
At 12 weeks, the monitor was dark.

We had so many plans.

You had walked around
with a dead baby for two weeks —
dead inside.

Weeks later,
you were at the water’s edge
and dove head-first into the sunset.

You drank in the oranges,
floated in the reds,
bathed in the shimmering yellows,
and wrapped yourself in its molten golds.

You glowed,
you glittered,
you burned gloriously,
as your shadow melted into the horizon
and sunk with the sun.

When you woke up,
enveloped in my arms,
you rose with the sun,
like our future crowning newborn.
You shined within
strong,
unrelenting,

and ready to try again.

Your Dying Room

I can smell the way you did
the days before you died —
your sour smell wakes
when I open the window
and the curtains breathe slowly
the way your chest rose and fell
and your lips fluttered
when you took your final breathes.
I clutched your soft hands
that turned clammy and stiff,
the hands that held me when I cried,
massaged my tired feet,
embraced me before I fell asleep.
Your shiny, evergreen eyes,
wells of your spirit,
turned milky
and the iron door shut
behind you.


The Beetle in the Sink

There is a beetle in the sink.
A big fat one,
shiny and black
with sharp needle antennae.

I turn the water on full force.
Drown the bug.
It struggles to swim,
spins and swirls in circles,
Then,
Down,
Down,
Down,
The drain it goes.

A day later…it can’t be!
It’s in the sink again.
The stubborn bug survived.
Maybe it ate some pipe mold.
Maybe it met some friends
who helped it stay afloat.

I try to drown the bug again.
A lot of water this time.
Full force!
This will do the job!

It struggles to swim,
spins and swirls in circles,

Then,
Down,
Down,
Down,
the drain it goes.

A day later…it just can’t be!
I take the poor bug out
of its porcelain death trap,
amazed it survived
all my attempted murders,
the poor little beetle.
Its antennae is still perky,
its black, hard body
still shiny like a medal.

I smile proudly at the bug,
cradle it in a sheet of paper
and set it gently down
on the ground outside.

I watch it crawl away
with its head held high.
I picture it smiling
and hear the song
“I will survive”
play over and over
again in my head.

Miriam Manglani lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts with her husband and three children. She works full-time as a Sr. Technical Training Manager. Her poems have been been published in various magazines and journals including Cerasus Magazine, Sparks of Calliope, Canyon Voices and Paterson Literary Review. Most recently, her poetry chapbook “Ordinary Wonders" was published by Prolific Press. 

Learn more about Miriam by visiting her website.