by Annika Gangopadhyay
Cracks in the plaster bloom
like folds on the dress my grandmother
last touched. The satin sags in the closet–
books and clothes embrace dust
in burial as the room sighs, you
have forgotten. Here is the irony
of a breathing tomb: I shrug dead
twigs off my shoulders and watch
morning hang magnolias on the window
pane as forbidden fruit. To pry open
a life I cannot love for a pastime long
euthanized is imbibing twigs in a bathtub,
as if a grandmother’s laugh could flare
into pleats and turn plaster to gold. The closet
wilts come sunset and in reassurance, I nod,
it looks better this way. Let the softness
rest on elbows in the dark–close the guilt,
leave the souvenirs with satisfaction. The
dusk looks better as a painting
etched in plaster, and I frame it with
the sagging dress. We laugh this way;
the black petals and I compressed
into four corners; let the morning
excavate us again as a snapdragon
without fangs, so pink that you could
touch it. My grandmother and I
pruned on the hardwood, we sag
below the closet,
forgotten in blooming.
About the Writer...
Annika is a young writer from the Bay Area. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in LIGEIA, The Incandescent Review, Blue Marble Review, and the borderline. She enjoys performing music in her spare time.
About the Artist...
Moheb Asimi is a Junior attending the Savannah Arts Academy High School. He's been drawing and expanding his skillset with different materials for about 2-3 years -- a few months before he entered the school for his freshman year.