Browsing All Posts filed under »55«

A Hundred and Nine

September 21, 2012

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Cotton candy aftermaths. Slippery notes of 10. The prickle of stranger on a bus. Inevitability between man and woman. Static of silk and belly. The vase that got away. Etchings of brassiere straps. Calluses for absent play. 11AM sun of winter mornings. Bites of new E-string. The lure of knife’s edge. Wetness inside a ring. […]

A Hundred and Seven

September 6, 2012

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The urchin flashed his 5, and called, Pani Puri! The hawker eyed him stand with the women who self-consciously popped whole puris in. Five down. They wiped their mouths. Pink hankies. Filthy sleeve. Five Rupees. The urchin hovered. The hawker looked, tsked, and threw the coin back at him. Who has use for two tails?

A Hundred and Six

September 6, 2012

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Why don’t you leave it with me? He offered. Big eyes darting, she gave it to him, and clambered into the giant wheel. The wheel swung and plunged. Nauseated, he looked away. He ringed nothing at the ring-anything stall. Eating her cotton candy, he asked, Did you like it? No. My heart wasn’t in it.  

Forty Six

April 30, 2008

5

Perfect summer’s evening. I’m in my cotton dress. You’re suited.We laugh. There’s breeze. There’s silence. I walk the wall, flip-flops in hand.You, dear gentleman, put out your cigarette in abject worry. I stop. I look at you.Help.You proffer your hand, promise with a nod. Mister Death, I remember your eyes most.

Forty Five

April 23, 2008

7

He held my hand with conviction, thirty hours into knowing I existed,Pointing out stars shining on wet, wet sand. One chin tilting forty five degrees upward, Z Axis.The other, forty five down. Snug in the depth of his voice, through his chest.Giggling, tickled by bubbles bursting between our toes.Ankle-deep in love.

Thirty Three

September 18, 2007

5

We sat on the cool stone steps, waiting. It looked like rain.Actually, it was too dark to tell. This was his third successive night up. A flicker briefly yellowed his features. Then, a unit of orange waxed and waned as he fancied. You’re right, he said.I’ve fallen out of the habit of love.

Twenty Nine

July 19, 2007

1

I watched him walk from the cigarette shop, talking on the phone – to someone close, I imagine. His gait wasn’t particularly hurried. He’d respectfully kept his cigarette unlit. I was telling somebody close about the daal-fry I’d had for lunch. I waved at him.He smiled, waved back. I have no clue who he was.