the applause of dead mothers

i wait
ear to the world 
the soft praise of learned
joints knocking; a sweet sagelike song 
of her

mother
mute as old life
yet somehow the kind chime
of a tired tambourine rings 
and rings

i hear
her in the smoke
my sad daal festering
in a steel-stemmed pot; a crime scene
of spice

i reach
through the dark and
search for the good, spill it
in a bowl and i hear her, and
i hear

mother
still singing her
pride, an ascendance of
warm iridescent colors when 
i smile

i wait
mute as old life
my sad daal festering
in a bowl and i hear her, and
i smile

Han Khan is a poet and writer. A mixed-race Londoner of English and Pakistani heritage, his work often explores themes of identity, family and community. More of his words can be found on Twitter (@hanjkhan).

Image courtesy of the author.