Bhowanipore Cemetery, 1907

On my first day in Calcutta, my mother took me to the Bhowanipore Cemetery. She'd been waiting for me to arrive so we could explore the cemetery together. It's heartening to know that I'm the sort of guy people wait to go to graveyards with.

Where they make a desolation they call it peace.
We walk past the gravestones, Mother and I
Reading inscriptions, strange names who died
At 23, 24. Younger than I. Mother shakes her head.

The birds sit on crosses. Seeming peace and calm.
Whenever the war was, the war is long gone.
The sunlight is golden. His T-shirt is red.
He talks on his hands-free, sitting on a grave.

23? 24? Boys knock fruit out of a tree.
Where they make a desolation they call it peace.