5 New Poems by Mindy Gill

By | 1 September 2023

Fates of Empires

The room is trapped
in bas-relief.
A cock-of-the-walk
god lists, his arms lopped
off. I slip down rain-scalded
stairs and I’m dwarfed
in the courtyard.

I lose the crowd
for market stalls
and thumb a stack
of postcards: Angkor
Wat in high gloss
stock. Artificial light
rakes the lotus pond
where dogs cool off.

A flea-bitten grey
sleeps in a thatch
of palms. She’s seen
it all before. Cities
sacked by one bad flood
or a king hell-bent
on new religion. I buy
a cone of roach-dark
nuts and pluck
off the shells like wings.

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