POUNDING

by Tasneem Khan

It’s such a menial act. Mundane really. 
With a pestle nestled between my fingers, 
I fling a handful of peppercorns into a mortar.
They have no time to settle, no space to jostle; no air to breathe. 
Who cares? I proceed. 
To bash their heads in. 
Unceasingly. As I hear no sounds, other than the satisfying thwack of wood on stone. 
I pound pound pound 
till their insides are squeezed out of their skins.
And what is left is a fraction of what once was.

I think about them—the peppercorns, the pestle, and the powdery remains
as I glance at the newspaper. 
‘Gaza pounded,’ it says. 
Sometimes, journalists do get it right. 

Tasneem Khan is an elementary teacher and lives in Bengaluru, India.

MY DAUGHTER IS PLAYING OUTSIDE

by John Guzlowski

In the quiet space of the dining room
My wife and I lay out the place settings

The forks beside the Wedgwood plates
The spoons and knives in their places.

A napkin in her hand, she pauses
And tells me again of how her mother

Would starch and iron the squares of cotton
Wash the plates by hand and again by machine.

I smile, nod my head and turn to the window
See the roof next door lift, shingles

Exploding like scattered sparrows, and there
It is—the howl of the locomotive wind

And then a pounding at the glass door
And a screaming that will not stop.



John Guzlowski’s writing has appeared in Garrison Keillor's Writers' Almanac, The Ontario Review, Atlanta Review, Crab Orchard Review, and other journals.  His poems about his parents’ experiences in Nazi concentration camps appear in his book Lightning and Ashes.  He blogs about his parents and their experiences at http://lightning-and-ashes.blogspot.com/ .