Anannya Dasgupta
(for Jaya Menon)
I live with ghosts,
you tell me,
and when I open
my chest of treasures
you show me that
it has scraps
of fabric too
frayed to know.
I listen to you
engrossed in your
presence, in
the flesh and blood
of our evening walk
when there is no
stray thread not
woven into stories
of how we live.
Then street lamps
glaring orange
fall behind us
our shadows lengthen
in front
and I worry.