remembering
i long for you. i am a river of longing. do you know what it’s like to stretch and flood until you are filled with everything but yourself?
i am remembering now. it is taking me time, but i’m enjoying it, the moonwalk to your smell. carrot cake, lemon zest. cheese. sweat.
everything is ferment, everything is frozen. the air sticks, my hair sticks, this chair sticks, we are sticks, you and i, once bound, now chipped, not fallen but resting, not bored but building.
i remember now. the cold wipes the sky clean, the earth buries her head between her thighs. skin prickled with winter, i turn to you sunflower style, but you are not interested in gardens anymore.
what do you long for? body, place, or time. love, truth, or prayer.
i wither, but only an inch. i thought it would hurt more. it seems final, like a start or an end, but not everything slices neat.
lost
the sun finds us in winter
when my fingers find yours
and we choose to get lost
sharing heat under trees
telling stories beneath sheets
weighed with our dreams
this is what it’s like
to be the light
to be the light
i’m lost
i’m lost
don’t come and find me
this coat is a cup
this coat is a cup
warm, grey
a sleeve for the things that jiggle inside
a crack in its shell
winter on skin
sharp fracture
makes me think of mother
of home
Pragya Bhagat is a spoken word poet, essayist, and author of two books. She is the founder of The Poetry Circle, where strangers and friends meet every other Wednesday in North Goa to read, write, and listen to poetry. Follow her work on Instagram at @bhagatpragya.