By: Natasha Deonarain

Truth is a dragonfly dying on your patio first thing in the morning

and you don’t know what to do

so you take a picture 

of its stage makeup face, 

velvet eyes and and iridescent purple tail, 

sun glinting through cracked glass wings.  

 

You think about sending the picture

to your sister 

whom you haven’t spoken to for years, ever since that time 

but then you think it’s just too exhausting

to click the share icon on your cell 

and press send, just as it 

 

was so exhausting 

to ask her to join you for a cup of coffee or grab some lunch

all those years ago,

demanding payment before

she’d agree to your company and besides,

 

it’s probably 

raining outside wherever she is  

right now, so you watch until his leg stops twitching

as he lies there perfectly still and then you walk into the

kitchen to make a cup of tea.