little disasters

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.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to little disasters

  1. Pingback: #AmWriting: In Which I am Learning & Growing! – spun

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s