Sriharini Seshachalam

What’s Left of You Lives

i look to an ocean
i’ll never see,
dreaming of the sky’s shore,
a spell of smoked mackerel
and a man and woman
seated around fire
still spinning a net of silver thread.

my great grandmother,
who died before she could see me,
swam in a dark sea
past midnight, after her husband
would return home with a shoal of fish
for her to char with cumin and turmeric,
the same shoal she had swam beside
the night before.

the women of my family
only wake when all the men
have gone to bed,
laughter translating each
other’s crying. faces lined with
stories netted to trade under
the quiet our night
pretends to be.

i can’t swim but
love the sea
from a whale-watching
boat every winter.
as close as i can get
to her mulberry waves
in mourning of a sky
she can’t touch either.

i love her how
women love the moon,
kissing the tears
of her light pierced
by men with poles.

i love her like
the pieces of you i watch rot like
the bottle of blackberry jam
you forgot in the fridge
able to age
unlike you, god
there’s still so much
i have left to tell you.

salt spraying my face
like the sting
or soft caress
of a mother’s palm,
i’m sorry this world was more
than you could dream of.

Sriharini Seshachalam is a Northern California based writer and UCD alumni. She enjoys watching, reading, and writing horror in her free time, accompanied by her betta fish, Blahaj. Seshachalam's poetry reflects questions and challenges with ancestry, particularly lost ancestry and efforts to reconnect with culture. She recently attended the Napa Valley Writers’ Conference and had her short story, “In or Out,” accepted by the Southland Alibi.