mother tells me to stop answering the
phone so I fill myself with water instead
of stale bread. logic doesn’t exist in this
town. on rainy days I pass the time by
playing card games on a gleaming
terrace. after all, you are just a reminder,
of that night: cloth scrapes and a story
that began when a boy crashed his car.
and mother wrote love letters to a stranger.
sonya rubs her hair dry, witness to a terrible
crime. what is seen cannot be unseen. this is
the Law but sonya is a master at drowning
memories in half-full bathtubs, when soap
bubbles drift into the living room, we know
she’s fallen asleep naked in lukewarm water.
lightbulbs flickering out while she learns to
Process & Heal. I mean this was supposed to
be a game. my brother laughing at dawn,
silvering under moonlight. but god teaches us
humility again and again and AGAIN,
like watching our father die wasn’t enough.
Rachana Hegde is a sixteen-year-old poet from India who collects words and other oddities. Her work is a study in chaos and blurred memories, and she is dissonant in the company of strangers. Her poetry is forthcoming in Alexandria Quarterly and Moonsick Magazine. You can find her reading, drowsy-eyed, or at http://ink-smudgedfingers.tumblr.com.