Nape of Her Neck

By Debi Mukherjee

My gaze fell upon the nape of her neck, 

a canvas with brown curls cascading from its sides, her

small fringes lined up glistening just over her scruff, and with the April sun shining brightly, had me bewitched - as if I was gliding my fingers down her nape 

And had glimpsed into another universe. 

Like a portal through which I had traveled, (although momentarily) into space and time. 

And as she walked past the tall fences, 

Sun rays peekaboo-ed, 

Shadows and the light taking turns 

caught up in her curls, 

They, more mesmerized than I. 

Her skin, dewy with the moisture in the air, 

glowed softly, and as if just then 

a rainbow could bounce off her, 

and I would hold the other end of this daydream. 

I was nobody to her, only a somebody going about my day.

The April sun shone down, 

smiling happily at my plight, 

And as she boarded her bus, 

that was the last I saw of her. 

By Debi Mukherjee