PAIN WILL NOT KNOW MY NAME

When pain comes hooves thumping
to the House of Apology, all slick

in his bow tie and leather
shoes, asking for me,

asking for the clan
name, mispronouncing, always

that little dodge to the side
where the thumb could slide

over the ink, rub in one neat
giant motion. House of Apology

lit with crowns like moons
lighting the halls, even the bathrooms,

little crowns on the feet of tubs
with duckies smiling at you,

artificial in this light. When pain
comes, grinding the studs

with hooves almost slicing
the earth, always that guilty

tilt of the head, question
in the lift of the eye, I will say

my name is Smith
or Kitten, pull on a wig for show,

dusty-blonde, minimizer bra. That way!
That way! I’ll point. He’ll say,

thank you miss, with his kind
eyes, hand me a lotion, and run.

Kuhu Joshi is an Indian poet and the author of My Body Didn’t Come Before Me (Speaking Tiger, 2023). Her work has been published in Poetry, Best New Poets, Black Fork Review, Rattle, Yearbook of Indian Poetry in English, and other publications. She earned an MFA from Sarah Lawrence College, where she was a Jane Cooper Poetry Fellow and studied under the mentorship of Marie Howe. She has received support and grants from the Academy of American Poets, Napa Valley Writers Conference, Tin House, the Teaching Artist Project, and Vermont Studio Center. Joshi teaches creative writing and composition at Pace University and City University of New York.