“i don’t know how to sing anymore” by Sirjana Kaur
September 18, 2025
it’s chilly in the mornings here
even in the middle of summer.
when nanimama is here, she begins
making her chai at six am.
wearing her shawl despite the fact
that her body echoes with warmth
mine doesn’t recognize. wind blocked
by the same walls that hide sunlight.
the kettles don’t whistle. i don’t
draw the voice out of my body,
offer it instead to ghosts still standing
at the doorstep. weaving in and out
of spring. nanimama cutting fruits
in the kitchen for a breakfast i won’t eat.
she makes me chai the same way
she makes her own. i grow out
of the body i have loved and
been loved in. renounce every inch
of the skin i never fully claimed
as my own. the sky withering
close to grey, darkening over
the doorstep, blurring into rain,
my irreverent and irreversible becoming.
made new by the thawing of late march–
almost as if this house
doesn’t recognize me anymore.
the child i was, unraveling memory,
unspooling it with careful fingers.
nanimama hands me her shawl.
tells me how cold i am,
almost as if less alive
than i once was.
no more ghosts living here.
only me.
This poem was written by Sirjana Kaur, a former fellow of the Youth Poetry Fellowship. Performed at the Seattle Arts & Lectures Literary Arts Series event with Arundhati Roy at Meany Hall on September 18, 2025.