Before your skin slid through my closed palms
I wrapped you in a sunflower-tinged towel
In the ashen room, you were my only one
Who pulled the red lever of panic? Were the sirens muted?
Then, I saw
Your surprised eyes and the canopy of eyelashes
Your lips, almost a velvet beak
Your hair, the bristles of a black rose
The slippers lay under the bed
but I walked with you in a football cradle
the first time we met in one of my dreams
Anuja Ghimire, is a native of Kathmandu, Nepal. Her poetry is published in over 30 journals in the U.S., Canada, and Nepal. A Pushcart-Nominee in 2015, she works in the e-learning industry by the day and writes poetry whenever she can. She lives in Dallas, TX with her husband and two little girls. Some of her published writing can be found in http://saffronandsymmetry.tumblr.com.
Read Anuja’s Column “Beyond and Back to the Yellow Mustard Flowers” also released today.