The following poem by Diya Kandhari from New Delhi was selected as a commendable mention in Wingword Poetry Prize 2020
and grief fluttered into an inconvenience,
a sliced open pigeon wing, bruised mantle, crushed beak
against asphalt; the vertebrate sticks out like flawed timing.
The neighbour's children have paint on their faces; an unfinished celebration
They complain about the vacuum cleaner that fell into disuse after the last death
about how the house is still filthy, humidity clinging onto shelves like an omen
Mother says today wasn’t the right day for death
You see grandfather has lost his driving license
which means mother has to drive him to and from the the highway.
Bird died at the edge of NH-22 on a national holiday.
Bird died on a highway no one drives upon because of the drunk civil engineer in 1940s
Bird died and here we are, and mother says bird should’ve died another day
Stacked up deaths are easier.
The distinctness of death is what makes it painful, it’s peculiarity, of location and cause
Aunty died on a hospital bed from heart disease, uncle drowned in a lake,
Mother says bird should’ve died tomorrow
But tomorrow is Mimi’s ballet recital, and day after is national cookie cutter day
And the day after the day after, is significant because it’s day after
Bird died on NH-22 on a national holiday and grief fluttered into an inconvenience, because it was always meant to.