Longing (A Prose Poem)

By Chaitali Gawade

 

It’s a different body than mine. This one is burrowed on a whim. Mine is tattered and full of holes, filled with debris. It confuses safety for love like two teaspoons of sugar with warm tea. An open chasm that falls inside, as I sleep. I arrange myself in the different pieces of selves I’ve shaped and stretch them under relevant skies. I’ve built these with language - cruel and kind. It becomes a space inhibited by bodies from the same houses settled in different towns. The curves rest as boundaries that exist only in anatomical drawings.

 

I’m a body of many selves, fabrics that change with each washing. I’m a feeling of ancient longing. I’m a land of many mythologies, waiting to be birthed. White hibiscus flowers born from my mouth, roll on my skin, crush their scent in every pore. I’ve caught rain and sun felt their weight in my palms, I’m not broken yet. I’m a worship of my ancestors built from the remains of their bones. It’s a constant rebuilding and rearranging of selves, even hiding and denying the selves that have no place in this moment so that all that is visible is a concrete image.

 

 

Based in Pune, India, Chaitali Gawade is a dreamer who lives in the fictional world of her creations and others whenever she can get away from real life. Check out more of her writerly musings at chaitaligawade.com Her work has been published by Unbroken Journal, Duckbill Anthology and Vagabondage Press, among others.