sleepover

death says that we will house her forever, that she will become
the perfumed rice on the morning of the funeral

that she will become the ash after the incense has burned out,
the soot on the gas furnace at the cremation ground;

she says she will anoint innocent banana peels with
the sandalwood we save for special occasions. she will become

a special occasion; death sobs, the night is too cold
to carry him away, the body will not decay, can she stay?

we bring her pale flowers and a blanket that night; his hair still has a pulse
she mutters matter-of-factly from the corner of the room

she scrubs the horrors of the night off his face
with ice water and kerosene, the brush bristles at her touch

there is work to be done, she does not eat when we offer
death says pregnant silences make for a humble meal

death has locked away the hospital machines and rotten teeth
in a little coin-purse she stuffs under her armpit

she is a kleptomaniac, we soon discover

house guests can be odd that way

death rides with us in the funeral wagon the next morning
snaring tears with her tongue the way buckets woo rusty taps

when they come to take the body away, lather him in butter
for the pyre, death straddles him and waves

there is an empty coin-purse where there used to be a body.
she is laughing in the distance now.

Hiya Chowdhury is a college freshman and aspiring writer from New Delhi, India. She was named the Senior Runner-Up at the Queen’s Commonwealth Essay Competition 2017, was shortlisted in the International H.G Wells Short Story Competition 2019, and long-listed in the Palette Poetry Prize 2020. Her work has appeared and is forthcoming in Rust+Moth, The Hellebore Press, BBC 500 Words, Sky Island Journal, and elsewhere.