Coming Undone

By Prosari Chanda

What if, one dusk,

I stumble home - unshelled, unstitched,

wild-eyed, airless

your name a ghost I cannot hold

your voice a blur I cannot trust?

kohl bleeding like a history undone,

hair in a revolt of silence,

lungs uncertain of allegiance —

and I arrive

but don’t bring me with me.

what if I arrive impossible?

will you still reach?

still undress my rage with gentleness?

pour light into my hollows,

wash away the night from my bones,

call me back in the shelf of your skin?

would your arms still remember to wrap around my chaos?

would you still press your mouth

against the tremble in my breath —

read the tides of my chest

like scripture?

tell me,

if I forget the keys to your chords,

will I still be

yours?

your soft rebellion of morning,

your ash-streaked evening,

your sleep-heavy never after?

By Prosari Chanda