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A House Plant Never Refuses Water

By Samyukta Raghavan


and a house plant never refuses the tap water. they don't weep when the cracks near their eyes deepen and their face sinks into their cheeks. but time has all the tenacity and impatience of a sad sunrise. it just keeps coming back every morning.


i used to hate the sun. but when i go home now i sit by the window and listen to big yellow taxi. there's always little ladybugs under my skin and you can see them sometimes if the light hits me just right. i name them all.


on the days I don't draw open the curtains, the ladybugs die one by one and i whisper little eulogies. "good night stevan, rest well. good night mildred. I loved you the best".





i used to love going to sleep. i was so awake in my dreams and the violets and oranges and greens were all so loud. i haven't dreamt of anything in a while. in the last one i can recall, i was a hideous little bird.


arms outstretched, singing some wretched song i don't even want to remember now. the leaves were screaming about something and i was screaming back for them to stop speaking so loudly.


i want to lock myself in this memory; break the key in half and jam the jagged edge into the sky. don't be so bright, don't be so big. fit into this little box with me, we will wake and be happy.


tap my left wrist twice, feel my pulse and then retch at the thought that i am bleeding always. isn't it all so strange?


By Samyukta Raghavan




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