little heart, will you ever learn to sing?

the twang of metal turned sour on my tongue, i fidget late nights, pulling long strings of bird-blue notes- outside the pond is tumescent.

if i write you a letter, will you write me one?

tell me a lie but tell me you will. years condense on my window like rain. along the rim, there is the fire of bougainvillea in spring. then there is summer when afternoons robed like brides jump at me from the shadows. startled, i sink in amniotic hope.

i heal.

i break.

tell me your favorite poem. tell me why it breaks your heart.

©Mohana Das


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