The Bhringi Wasp Hums
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

The bhringi wasp hums
to its stung-dead prey.
The moonbird gives darshan
to the frogs. The heron
shakes its wings, and feathers lift
into the night sky, like
dandelion seeds on the wind.

Someone started a fire
by the creek that you think
is put out, but every time you go near,
it flames up again. All night
simran drifts through the trees
arranging its syllables
into songs.

I lived short-sited and fickle—always
afraid—but with a touch
of imagination. The humming
is stirring me awake.
The feelers tremble over
my body– fanning it alive.

Drinking Milk from Poison
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

The old man steps from the revolving cave
and goes down to the lake, where he bathes
and turns into a swan.

The little boy in the egg with wings listens
to the night sounds, and fades back to sleep
for a thousand years.

Ravidas made shoes, Guru Nanak tended a farm
in Kartarpur, Kabir wove shirts, and Mirabai–she
spun out of control into the streets shouting her longing.

Radiance, sometimes you feel like a butterfly
turning back into a caterpillar, but Charan drinks milk
from poison and offers you a glass.

Your job is to stop shouting: “Look at me! I have
an arrow in my leg!” and get back to singing.
Your wound is only part of who you are.