In this intimate conversation, Anjali reads and reflects on three of her powerful poems: Doubt, Portrait of a Cancer Patient (in Abecedarian, after Gillian Wegener), and Banned — a piece responding to the words recently censored by the Trump administration. Together, we explore how these works became vessels for grief, resistance, and reclaiming voice in the aftermath of silence.
Anjali is a writer from Fresno, California. She is often found in the company of her octogenarian friends who have way more energy than she does. Anjali is known for her delicious chocolate chip cookies and an uncanny ability to find dogs that have gone for a run without their people and reuniting them. Anjali writes about living with cancer, racism, sexism, and human rights. Her work can be found with Scrub Jay Press in the Wild Blue Zine V.2, Cactus Cancer Society, Remedy Media’s Patient Power Series, and the Yonsei Memory Project.
Doubt By Anjali Kapoor-Davis Doubt creeps in after the third class, one hundred plus temps drain my fifty three year old body. Doubt seeps into my pores as I sleep, two hour naps still leave my body leaden not rested. Dragging limbs into the bathroom I glimpse a hunched figure. Doubt looks back at me in the mirror. Questions fill my head as water fills my hands liquid courage to awaken my spirit. I could use something stronger. Doubt waits by the door disguised in brown eyes and fur. I could stay home in the air conditioning and pet him, he says without a word. Isn’t it enough to be a mom, a wife, a daughter, a sister? Guilt wants to join the party but three’s a crowd. Doubt leaves me parched, a bitter metallic taste in my mouth, unable to find words to quench its thirst. Doubt pools in sweat under my arms and breasts, the acrid scent assaulting my nose. Even the dog has left my side. Doubt shouts in my ears, ghostly voices of old professors thinking my kind of people can’t play, sing, dance, write, create. The tears begin to form and blur my vision. Doubt keeps waiting for me to falter but I’ve released it on the page, unburdened for the night. Doubt will have to wait another day.
Portrait of a Cancer Patient with Alphabet After Gillian Wegener By Anjali Kapoor-Davis Allergic reaction If you read her chart you will know The twelve medications and food allergies That will kill her painfully, slowly, gasping for breath Brachial Plexus Supraclavicular mass, inoperable She rubs in circles above it chanting “you’re just the right size, don’t get any bigger” Praying this roommate is more hospitable than the college ones Calcium Hypocalcemia makes appendages tingle, risking cardiovascular collapse Cow’s milk is impossible because she’s lactose intolerant Combine two parts baking soda and one part vinegar to remove calcifications from a bathtub Diagnosis “You have the good cancer,” smiled the doctor without making eye contact Her ears heard nothing after the word was uttered, though his mouth kept moving Noise cancelling headphones have the same effect Emergency Rooms She arrived in a car, a van, an ambulance Depositing blood, bile, and vile shit on the wheelchair and waxed floor Leaving a trail of red and brown “breadcrumbs” for her husband to follow Fatigue She thought having a baby, a toddler, a teenager was exhausting Leaden limbs languishing in a heap on the cream shag carpet Did Sleeping Beauty have hypothyroidism? Maleficent has nothing on hypo hell. Genes BRAF, the mutation in her genes The start of an alphabet soup of acronyms she must master Does this mean Professor X will be calling soon and what superpowers come with it? Horner’s Syndrome Was it a stroke? The drooping eyebrow, eye lid, and cheek in the mirror was not there before A constricted pupil remains years later, drooping lid hidden behind dark rimmed glasses The half-smile tells only half her story Imaging Scanxiety builds as her next CT approaches, it’s not a donut, no matter what they say It’s not the radiologist results, but the machine itself, getting trapped once was enough trauma Krispy Crème has a better variety than GE Jugular Go for the ... The papillary thyroid carcinoma listened and obeyed, devouring everything in its path She never could do cartwheels and handstands anyways, she’d blackout now if she tried Kubler-Ross On Death and Dying sat on her parents’ bookshelf, a social workers guiding script Reading about it doesn’t always prepare you to go through these Life Lessons The TBR pile is filled with Agatha’s best; is a fictional death better than the real one? Lungs Filled with air, filled with (second-hand) smoke, filled with polka-dots Wheezing like an out of tune accordion with Trident spearmint gum stuck between its bellows Smoke never did stay in its own section on airplanes and in restaurants. Medication Oval, round, amber hued, white, two-toned, horse sized, she knows her pills intimately Levoxyl, Calcium, Calcitriol, Prilosec, Gabapentin, Tylenol, Imodium Albuterol, Ibuprofen, Tyco, Norco, Z-pak, Morphine, Narcan, and the one to end it all. Needles Her veins sense their presence and dive into her fleshy folds to avoid being stabbed again Why do they call it a butterfly needle? She is not a human pincushion! Butterflies flit across the yard, feasting on nectar in the garden On Hold Music Have patience dear cancer patient, this is your life now Opus No. 1 by Carleton and Deel is burned in her synapses after an hour of waiting A music major should not be subjected to this kind of torture Pain She thought labor was a ten and she was wrong Writhing in agony with cervical radiculopathy, the tumor is touching the nerve The one time she wished she wasn’t pro-gun control Quarantine She swallowed the yellow and black pill with the radiation symbol on it A week of isolation, left with her thoughts, People magazine, and sour candies to suck Who knew Imagine Dragons would write this radioactive girl a theme song? Rest Inhale, Exhale, Inhale, Exhale, in 4 count segments She sinks into the hunter green flannel sheets and lets Cannon carry her burden A symbol on the staff whose importance is dismissed by sopranos seeking only to be heard Surgeries Thyroidectomy, Radical left neck dissection, Radical right neck dissection Her first of five that eviscerated her career as a singer, fueling her search for a new voice At least fish are dead before they are gutted Tears They failed to form when the c word was first uttered But nearly drowned her in the doctors parking lot Crying helps to remove stress hormones and toxins from the body Ultrasound She lays on her back, neck hyperextended for better access Warm Aquasonic gel rubbed into her skin with the wand seeking the miscreants The lights are dimmed, the warm blanket is comforting, it could be a spa day, but it’s not Vocal Cords Christine Daaè and The Queen of the Night, She kept good company with coloraturas Never knowing if humming Brahms’ Lullaby to her baby boy, would be her last aria Resembling constricted rubber bands failing to resonate, making her son a Heimlich expert Waiting On the phone, in the office, in the exam room In line at the pharmacy, the ER, the hospital bed All those trips to Disneyland prepared her well Xerostomia She never leaves home without a bottle of water, but it doesn’t really help Salivary gland damage from Radioactive Iodine left her teeth cracked, broken, and crumbling too Orin Scrivello sized nightmares every six months, without Audrey II for backup Years The Oncologist said she would be dead in five years, when her father asked for a prognosis How do you tell a six year old his Mother has cancer? We are not cartons of milk with expiration dates stamped on our foreheads! Zero No Evidence of Disease, she dreams of these words Unlike Olympians who only want tens A state of Nirvana where the soul is free, restored from the malignancies of earthly life
BANNED By Anjali Kapoor-Davis underrepresented since birth black curls, brown eyes she is a child of this earth reared by activists to rise against the oppressive tide enveloped in exclusion don’t worry, she will never hide from their hate speech pollution diversity, equality, and inclusion foster communities of hope amongst more than key populations currently marginalized and trying to cope the occupier uses a pen instead of rope for his modern day lynching a horrifying destructive scope birthed in fear, lies, and scheming none will ever stop her dreaming a world that fosters community where we no longer search for belonging only outstretching our arms in unity Wouldn’t you rather end the insanity? But perhaps you prefer your bias it seems you have lost your humanity thinking girls should obey and be pious shouting from your tainted dais her body is not her own but she smiles and dares you to try us she will not give up and lay down she will not bow to any crown you cannot destroy her self-worth she’s a woman not a victim to drown we are all children of mother earth
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