http://www.albany.edu/offcourse 
         http://offcourse.org
         ISSN 1556-4975

A journal for poetry, criticism, reviews, stories and essays published by Ricardo and Isabel Nirenberg since 1998.
Sierpiński gasket
        in a Sierpiń
        ski gasket in a Sierp
        iński gasket
Holes
        so tiny, my eyes
        cannot see, grow
until
        they almost fill
        the field of vision.
While circum
        ambulating the serp
        ent under the tree,
        I had the vision
of a serpent on the vimanam
        like a Sierpiński gasket.      
“Sierpiński Gasket” was first published in Komma (No.2/2010), Sweden.
My jeweler uncle says certain things
        go together, like gold and rose paper.
        A square meal must end 
        with curd rice and pickle: two square
        roots of any given number. 
Vijay says, Asin, her brother and he
        together form one happy family,
        for they eat upma all the time. 
        Our destiny in plates, reader,
        Vijay, Asin, her brother, you and I are one. 
The driver says it's lunch break.
        Your mother mixed milk with curd
        rice lest it turned sour by noon.
        Pickle right at the center, long
        time meets short time in your lunch box. 
Sudha Raghunathan says, for song add briga
        only as much as pickle for curd rice.
        For curd rice, add pickle only as much
        as briga for song. Otherwise, you know what
        will output music if not your mouth.
Your grandmother says, even if you grow up,
        earn a title, may you keep 
        your lifestyle simple. Her blessings are preservatives.
        If this poem is curd rice, may pickle 
        be the size of title. 
GJV says he takes chappathi + thayir sadam
        because he’s settled in Delhi 
        though he hails from South India.
        You can’t imagine that equation inside,
        for like me, you are a terkattiya.
If your husband gets Rs.708 only
        which is 7080 after cuts, 
        how do you make the budget on the 1st?
If only a week into the month 
        and in the store room, there’s no rice left,
        how do you imagine Annachi will accept 
        money within brackets?
If the money lender threatens to throw out
        andas and gundas, and your husband
        is at home, why do you hide him in the room
        like a whole pumpkin in a plate of rice?
If the milkman moos, you promise to pay him soon,
        and if the newspaper boy crows, you promise to pay him, too.
        With money for one, how can you book two tickets?
If your daughter develops an interest
        in English prose, but for R.K.Narayan books
        what can you afford, TLS or Reader’s Digest? 
If your son demonstrates his biking skills 
        to the sub-inspector of police
        by drawing a pattern of 8
and midway through the month, says pi-pi
        like a nadaswaram vidwan adjusting his pipe, 
        from where will you conjure the bribe?
If Puliyur Saroja visits your home
        as a surprise and you have no ghee
        in the bottle, only Dalda, no oil,
        how will you impress with bajji or sojji?
Madame, if income is 8 ananas,
        expense 10 bananas,
        how will you make ends meet?
        
        
      
As students pass on question papers
        in the exam hall, your sisters-in-law pass
        clothes on. At all points in time, a cloth
        hangs mid-air. You maintain a force
        like the Sun keeping planets in place.
Your neighbour’s clothes lines too, converge 
        and diverge. Of these pairs, which is yours?
      

On concurrent lines, you write 
        the script of clothes, optimize the clip count: 
        use N+1 of them for N units, 
        bucket affixing clips with cutting vegetables: 
        slash N-1 times for N slices.
You recite Aditya Hridayam alongside
        spreading out clothes, to complete the two chores in one,
        infringe on your neighbour’s resources and yet
        run out of space, hang the rest 
        of clothes on the Yagi Uda array.
  
        Climbing downstairs, you hum an Ilayaraja song
        and decide to watch the Mallika Badrinath program, 
        if time permits, read Mangayar Malar 
        prior to siesta. You dream
        the terrace transforms into a stringed instrument.
At 4 o’clock the clothes are dry, 
        you must fetch them. Yours isn’t a 9 to 6 job. 
        Then, you must make coffee, cook.
        The clips you abandon on 
        the clothes lines return from 6 to 9.
S S Prasad is completing his manuscript, Sunday Morning: 50[(Math)Poems] on seeing Arun Kolatkar through the Raul Zuritan filter, from which the above poems are taken. His first book of poems, 100 Poems was published in 2008 by STD Pathasala, Chennai, India. Carla Bertola and Alberto Vittachio published his chapbook, Talking Circuits for the visual editions imprint of their magazine, Offerta Speciale (Italy) in 2014. His other works in progress include 0 Poems, kaleidopoems, Beyond Poems, Tamil Poems and Wedding Album. An avid blogger, Prasad maintains a kisukisu (gossip) blog on Indian poetry. Prasad lives and works in Bangalore, India.