HOW DID YOU COME TO POETRY?
I’ve always appreciated the power of poetry to impact readers and touch them. Since I was little, I’ve been an avid reader and writer. I loved taking in all the words I could and soon became committed to producing my own stories. I came to poetry in sixth grade, when my teacher shared the poetry of famous writers and exposed us to different forms of poetry, including sestinas, sonnets, and villanelles. I was captivated by how raw and powerful poetry could be, how it could appeal so strongly to the self and to the emotions, more so than any other writing form I had encountered. Right after that class, I went home and spent the rest of the day putting language together into poems, loving the way the words sounded, loving the freedom and liberation of poetry. Since sixth grade, I’ve continued to love the form and the flexibility it provides.
HOW HAS YOUR RACIAL AND CULTURAL IDENTITY IMPACTED YOUR WRITING JOURNEY?
I attend a predominantly white school and live in a mostly white neighborhood. I try to use my voice to share my experiences being an Indian girl in these settings, to give readers insight into the life of one with Indian heritage. And while these environments can sometimes be uncomfortable or hard, I enjoy putting myself in these situations, these unlikely places for an Indian girl, like the bike shop I work at, or the Scouts troop I’m in, or the soccer team I play on, or the writing workshops I’m part of. These experiences provide the fodder for my writing.
WHAT IS THE BEST PIECE OF WRITING ADVICE YOU’VE EVER RECEIVED?
I think the best writing advice I’ve ever received is to “kill your darlings.” This basically means to eliminate any plotlines, descriptions, and sentences that, while the writer may personally enjoy them, do nothing for the story to move it forward. It was definitely hard for me to ruthlessly cut these lines, but overtime, I’ve realized how much stronger and tighter the piece becomes.
OUR STAR (SESTINA)
By Tara Prakash
8.3 minutes, and its light reaches us. When we look at the sky
We are looking into the past.
The sky is a map of history. I look up into the dark sea glass above
Me. I can’t help but wonder if you are one of those pinpricks of light
Pulsing, twinkling at me. I wish I could’ve told you I loved you, Grandfather, but time
Rivered wrinkles into your body, scarred your memory
With the art of forgetting, recollections of sand scattering through your memory,
Just as starlight dozes in the early morning sky.
Those three words wouldn’t mean anything to you. If I could, I would send the past
Up to you on a wisp of cloud, of good-night stories, playing in the waves, summer evenings
bathed in firefly light,
So I wouldn’t have to look into the ashy charcoal above
To find you, I could have been lying in your sunburnt arms, my head against your cotton
blue shirt, and we’d be looking above
Together, and instead of me searching for the distant beacon of your memory,
We would simply be staring at the droplets of grieving light
Treading water in that deep oceanic sky,
And we could fall back in grass tipped with dew, and forget the past.
There wouldn’t be any fog of regret, of time
Playing tricks on us. We could pretend that time
Was only a game, that no one would ever have to live above.
But now the only time I can be in your arms is in the past,
So I walk through the ivy snaked pathway of memory.
I don’t want years to rob you from my mind, but the sky
Is a living, breathing example of what happens when sunlight
Rises, washing away all the starlight,
From its short existence. I wish you wouldn’t fade each time
A new day begins, each time the sky
Drains its blue-black tub. Even though you’ve dwindled from above,
Not even the strongest sun could steal you from our hearts, our memory.
You will always be part of our past,
And we will never forget you. You’re in the sky’s past.
You’re part of the sky and you’re part of the earth and now we have enough light
To do anything. I hope moving on is not betrayal, for every night I go outside and look for
you. You will never leave my memory.
I find you, find your smiling eyes in the twilight. Time
Does not apply to the stars. Those punctures of light will forever be in the darkness above.
All I need to do to remember you is look up at the sky.
It takes 8.3 minutes for our star’s light
To reach me. Looking up, I glimpse ping-pong matches, late movie nights, strawberry
picking in the heat of summer. An entire story unfolding in the sky.
And that’s all I need to remember you, Grandfather. The past.