Summer Vacation by Debasis Mukhopadhyay

In the white of this country, Germaniums bleed no more than ten weeks. Ten weeks past, the babies stopped. No belly. Nothing could hold us far from the ultrasound report.

“Sorry about what happened to your wife yesterday”, I heard and heard it again. Yesterday‘s grim ray riddled me again. Thanks extended to everybody again.

The shadow of the two lying in the bottom of her body was scooped out. No belly. Scraped out. End of summer. So then, we headed off on vacation to unplug. No Germaniums.

The writhing worlds fell silent to become still near Baie Pasha. Still as the lake surrounding our cabin that came with a boat down-in-the-history of the New World. Stillness was called to sprawl out under the dead summer sun.

Forest trails, canoe lines, hand in hand, at every movement, the wind passed though our hearts. The slopes darkened after the sundown, when we had no longer to face our faces but our bodies.

The bodies wanting to burst open, Muskellunges traversing the water of innumerable lakes & rivers of Portneuf reserve, breasts gusting against the mouth until eternity. Colostrum ran everywhere to bring back the dead ones to life. No Belly.
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Originally from Calcutta, India, Debasis Mukhopadhyay now lives in Montreal, Canada where he has earned a PhD in literary studies. His recent poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Snapping Twig, Eunoia Review, Silver Birch press, Of/With, and elsewhere.