by Simran Pandey
the weight of our fruits basket causes
me to lose balance because, well,
it’s going to be hard to remain stable if only
one arm is pulling the weight.
my beach dress tangles between my legs,
tripping me, leading me to fall towards the sharp
i reach for your hand and realize too late that
you’re not here anymore.
blissful i am not as i recount the picnic, yes the picnic
the one where the efflorescence of the flowers around us
kept us bright and happy as we threw bright red cherries
bright like the blood on my arms
at each other.
i went to the doctor the other day -
i told them i felt dizzy so they
audited my brain but only found thoughts of
as the rocks cut deeper into my skin i remember the first few
nights, alone, where our past greeted me as a ghost
i utter your name in the garden of my mind:
the garden of sweet strawberry scented hair and lime
flavored nights and tomato-like blushes and blueberry-esque
the thunder strikes and all of a sudden i can’t tell if my tears
are stinging my scars or if the world is mocking me because,
how could i forget that even the
sweetest peaches have
jagged and tough
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