by Priyadarshini Gogoi
what is forget
They say that the body remembers:
skin remembers touch, lips remember
lips, the heart,
it remembers how fast
it has ever been beat.
but i am still
i can breathe,
my lips are brand new,
my heart is at ease,
and this lump in my throat
is quite at home with me.
How did I become
so cruel? I loved you
To be gone
out in the middle of night, when they sleep
on their sides, dreaming of grand pianos elsewhere.
Leave them checking their football scores, their thumbs full
of faraway melodies.
take nothing. Leave
penniless through the backdoor,
fill bags with your best clothes and toss them in the car.
Do not think of shoes; walk away.
Your feet will rumble and your stomach will cut,
You will rethink the meaning of need.
avoid the gates: they have the mouths of announcement.
Climb over the wall, may the bougainvillea be your last
thing that still leans on him. Allot the thistles
seats on your palms;
May they be the only souvenirs you carry.
Pluck the greenest lemon for when memories come calling, for when
the sink whispers you missing. They will be slow
to notice your absence:
Do not wait to make yourself gone.
Here is a tapful of tears, take it.
Fill a tub with it and come afloat
scrub your feet raw with its salt
Let it clean out your wounds
Let it, let it.
Priyadarshini Gogoi is an aspiring poet and writer, and presently an editor of children’s books. When not writing, she is thinking about writing, and when not thinking of writing, she is bogged down by the ruinous angst of her quarter-life crisis.