The oven, frosted over with burns,
Which claimed you that quiet morning –
I imagine that morning, rainy and damp,
toys strewn about: trucks and cars never to return.
And a doll who had experienced a love
Versed in the recesses of a thickening air.
through a wineglass one wouldn’t see it rise,
a sparkling rosé would mask the surprise.
Dawn, before birds chirp and after crickets sigh,
And bees in the garden, perpetually humming
is when towels were stuffed and door hinges sealed.
A closing heart, a slowing drumming.
Children cry when left alone,
but learn to play with empty space.
Faces unnerve me now and yours in full:
those grains of yours are seeds newly sown.
we are twins in death, you and I,
circling each other in the sky.
A blue that darkens, hues unsaturated,
cannot light up the same way.
You were braver than I, though both fated
to leave. I took meaning with me,
while you left yours to stay.
I didn’t write poetry.
But rest assured, I will write it now,
and all my lines and choice of words –
felicitous fox, rained pain, grapes for geese
will be for Shura,
There, where you lie,
is where I wait for peace.
About the Poet:
Pritha Bhattacharyya is a writer and graduated from Cornell University in 2016. She studied psychology and minored in creative writing. She writes both short stories and poetry and her work has been featured in Rainy Day, Marginalia, and Litro Online. To learn more about her work, visit prithabread.wordpress.com.
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