lovettcanfly

Charity

by Vikas Menon


A chorus of cries
greeted me, so I began my pilgrimage

in front of the temple, dropping a coin
into each palm awaiting

the welcome weight of coin. A tremor
of childish joy passed through me:

I would give to each.

The coins dwindled,
but my hope held until I arrived at the last man:

splayed out on a cart, a hovel of wind and wood
he had watched me give to each

of his fellows, but now stared
at my empty hand.

His mouth twitched—
mushrooms sprung from a rotting log—

and he laughed, his echo falling away
into the chasm beneath us.

That day, all day,
milk soured to curd in my mouth.