By: Aekta Khubchandani
She may never have been happy
but she was content, that night.
An empty house,
setting strawberry runners,
a glass of cool sweet milk,
a shallow dish of blueberries bathed in cream-
there were moments of such stitched silence
and then, heavy rain and poems titled RAIN
across the nation.
She loved people like a stamp collector loved his collection
but she didn’t know how to love herself.
When sadness cornered her,
sleep and love failed her, repeatedly
she shifted her body to mediate in a hot bath.
There must have been quite a few things a hot bath wouldn’t cure
but she didn’t know many of them.
Intoxicated with madness,
she was in love with her sadness.
They tried Electrotherapy
printed in black letters
‘Let’s get this over with,’ Dr. Nolan said.
She desired things that would lead to her end-
You’ve only got so long to live
Depression didn’t kill her
but suicide did,
blowing her head in the oven
imagining her take a deep breath
listening to the old brag of her heart
I am, I am, I am
I hope at least that helped.