autumn

Nani's hands are wiry thin;

pupils pulled back to bare

molars on ringed babyhairs, above

a sweat-matted forehead.

the gomti whispers to me across the

ebbing tide, through a kitchen sill

(and i call myself an artist at last)

we are made of cracked epidermis,

stringed nailbeds+ flattened dough

shimmering through a fish-netted

wave of effervescent nostalgia.

at 2 pm, she brings out the meat,

saffron beads crushed in infancy

oilseeds emanating through sticky

mid-morning star anise undertones.

the biryani sits heavy on the roof of my mouth

morsels jutting out of pronged peepholes

slivers of tiny grasses eking out time &

a six-yard surrender for doctored

x-rays. a shuttered moment frozen in time.

(and if only a gentle breeze

does not wash this memory away.)

Anoushka Kumar is a writer and student from India whose work is either published or forthcoming in publications such as the Heritage Review, the Qualia Review and the Crossed Paths Magazine. She is on the editorial team of the Interstellar Review, Cathartic Lit and Gossamer Lit. When not writing, she can be found listening to Phoebe Bridgers, crying over poetry, or debating the queerness of complex female characters.