the scrap entrails from our
parents’ hollowed eyes, near
blind, exploited still
feasted on by the old gods, shame
sacrifice, superstition

we pagans hid in the water closet
where we kept the worn,
warped, empty sour cream
containers
and a generation’s secrets

where my eldest hyped her
first cigarette, our
youngest ate
kraft slices in stolen silence
where I listened, ever still
to the same promotional cd
the hudson’s bay company gave
away for free
and the immigrants took
by mistake

prayed and betrayed

by the toilet, where the new gods
waited and woke

# # #

Cory Kulbir Saran is an aspiring writer from White Rock, British Columbia, Canada. His first published poetry will be featured in Carousel Magazine Fall/Winter 2018 and RHINO Poetry Spring 2019.

Photo: sweet ice cream