outside / you give me
your scarf / the street lights are red
every bar song is closing /
time to the fog of your breath.
I will not say goodbye / in this moment, I see myself
in a garden made of plants that are all gems and poison /
do you see it? the world is fluorescence and crystal /
you will see it the moment the street lights turn green to scream
go, girl. go.
my mother is a botanist’s daughter /
she taught me to go where things grow.
you say to me with your voice all breath / fog: fine,
tell me a story.
in my head, I rehearse it.
(do you think
she ever told him she loved him? he was captivity, all safe.)
I rehearse it to death,
give me a pomegranate and I will make you / a crown that drips red
down your chin / my mother told me that you had a garden
where Eve was told to not eat of the fruit: I suppose you
were also the serpent / maybe all stories are retellings.
Disha Trivedi currently lives in California. She has been previously published in The Women’s Issue, an anthology curated by The Harvard Advocate.
Artwork: Chie Yoshii, The First Taste