I'm Ok Now, Mom

By Misha Raj

Today.

I wake up.

And the sky smiles a watery grey smile in the mirror.

You're still here,

the clouds whisper wispily.

I walk a trail of unfolded clothes

like it's a crumpled red carpet.

I’m alright now, mom.

I don’t cut anymore.

I eat all three meals a day.

But my bed is still unmade.

It took a while to recover, but I’m here now.

At the top of the same hill

I’ve been staring at so longingly

for the past 4 years.

The air is thinner up here;

it's easier to breathe

when it’s not saturated

with oxygen.

My bones are hollow now, mom.

They don’t drag me down like lead anymore

But I’m still drowning in unfulfilled deadlines.

The sun is thawing my frozen veins to scarlet,

and my heart is learning to beat the word ‘tensile’.

Breathe with me, mom.

I’ll show you how.

Long inhales of this feathery air.

Rest your heart in the sinews of my hands

They can take it now.

Look how wide I can smile now, mom.

But don’t look at the gaps in my teeth.

I can feel your love now, mom.

It dapples my skin like honeyed sunlight

Filtered through cerulean dew drops.

I’m begging you to take some back.

There isn’t any space for it here,

Between the shrivelled sinews that hold together

this reanimated corpse of emaciated echoes.

Besides, you need it more than I do.

I told you I’m at the hilltop, mom

And you’re too far down to see

The grass has given way to jagged edges

And the hill is now a cliff.

But don’t worry, mom;

I rarely think of jumping.

And even when I do,

The sun hasn’t thawed my feet out yet

So I’m still frozen at the edge.

I don’t think I’ll take the plunge

But just in case I do:

You should know I’m sorry mom.

I really was ok.

By Misha Raj