Second Light

feeding our reciprocal hunger, substantiated by hopes and prayers.

Question after question chased time away, until we had shed any pretense of other cares; and all we lived for was Sundays, Sundays in each other’s arms, Chitra and Arjuna re-enacted.

But it was not natural, the language we spoke; the fluency of the tongue, the fluency of the heart, yes, but not of the mind. So, it is no surprise that you went away, and had forgotten to give me the most important lesson of all— how to forget.

The cuckoo clock which bites you every hour and the garden gnome with its blank eyes is the stuff of your nightmares.

The shag orange carpet and the clouded mirrors make you nauseous and ill, but your babysitter does not care a whit for your discomfort.

You sit on the striped sofa cushion to inhale her fully (whiffs of nicotine and apple pie).

You hide in her closet, warming yourself with sweatpants and faux leather jackets.

Sometimes you depress the keys on her word processor, delighting in the blue screen and blinking cursor.

But, she never seems to see you.

Months pass and her house burns down to a cinder shell and you never return, beyond the once-by your mother took to rubberneck.

Years later, you finish your degree in anthropology, fail to get into grad school, and manage an indie bookshop.

Your hair is long and your eyes are clouded. You sit behind the counter and strike matches on a stone to light your endless cigarette.