poetry | january & windy mornings

I feel like a child again when my mother totters to the living room,
crutches in one hand, phone in the other;
It’s been a day since we last argued and I’m already
feeling like one long bruised scream, unraveling quietly like
my black jumper, thread stretched flat against my arm.

I keep going to the library, show up looking a little lost
and avoid the librarian as much as I can.
I’ve started thinking I can’t so when she shows up asking
for a favor, I apologize and leave. I don’t know how
to look out for anyone but myself. The break is over
and now I’m just looking for a reason to keep trying.

This is a month of sneezing constantly,
sniffling and swallowing sputum.
The cold seeps in and I learn to dress quickly,
never naked for more than a second.
The curtains speak to me when I stay home,
& everything glows in my fevered dreams.

This poem was loosely inspired by the month of January. As always, I’ve used poetry as an opportunity to exaggerate and warp reality.


8 thoughts on “poetry | january & windy mornings

  1. lessca8sings says:

    I loved this. I get what you mean by warping reality. I haven’t suffered or endured a lot in my life, so sometimes I imagine what I would look like in a much darker picture.
    To me this poem seems vaguely mysterious and gray (the color of ashes) and icy. I also see the narrator wearing a yellow shirt beneath the jumper, but maybe that’s just an association between toddlers and primary colors. Anyway, I thoroughly enjoyed this piece.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Rachana says:

      Thank you! Yes, yes! That was exactly what I was trying to convey (the mysterious, gray, icy feeling). I don’t know about the yellow shirt but it’s always interesting to hear about how others interpret my poetry. Thank you for stopping by and sharing your thoughts. It’s little things like this that fuel my writing ❤

      Liked by 1 person

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