I have been reworking some recent
(i.e written in the last year) writings. It's be a bit of a dry spell...
--
Going
to Rajanpur
Beneath
my fingers, the edges of the once glossy picture are worn and begin to fray. “Greetings
from Mumbai!” the bright bold words declare, duty-free. Letter from the land of
a thousand gods, words read a thousand times. Rajanpur. I close my eyes.
We are lying beneath the sheets, breathless, and he pulls me in closer. “You
looked for me,” he whispers. “I’ll always look for you.” I turn the postcard
over in my hands. Just one word is written there, that unpracticed cursive
handwriting. Rajanpur. I’m back beneath the sheets. His favorite color
is cerulean blue and mine is indigo. “Where would you go if you could go
anywhere?” I ask as my finger trails from his nose down to his stomach. Rajanpur.
I drop the postcard on the floor and grab my bag. Going to Rajanpur.
---
Truncated Reticence
It
was you
Who
was the herd of wild horses
On
a beach in South Carolina
Who
was the beach in South Carolina
The
sand that gave gently and pushed back firmly
A
wave beneath each thundering hoof
Who
was just one timber wolf alone in the snow
That
howled his longing to the full cold moon
Who
was the full cold moon
The
light that illumined each falling flake
Splendid
to behold
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