every story I’ve ever read starts with a spreading
silence: that thick-syrupy quiet forcing itself
down my throat. there’s always the pain:
a brilliant stabbing, fireworks in a sleeping
town, and a howl wrapped around my tongue.
you know morning never stops by my house (I
heard she’s feeling shy ’cause I fucked her sister)
but moonlight still drips listlessly into a bucket
sitting on the bathroom floor. last night I was
searching for a reason to live. I remembered a news
article about teen suicides. author calling us
‘little disasters.’ and I think, today, of how mama
says accident, like it’s the same thing as fate.
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.
Eunoia Review 
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