Content warning: mentions of violence and sexual themes.
I don’t believe in fickle things
like gold
or fate
But my mother taught me how to listen
when the universe hums a soft siren song
How strange is it
I found you
and time seemed to stop
the same day I lost my favorite watch
I liked dancing alone
But you never gave me a choice
Calloused fingers yanked me into your waltz
so fast I lost count
One, two, three
One, two, three
We floated delicately around each other
breaths bated
not quite touching
I twirled on my toes
it was dizzying
A thousand jittery butterflies
enveloped me in their sweet embrace
I cursed when the clouds darkened
You didn’t mind much (you welcomed the cool wind)
I minded too much (I missed the way the sun made your hair glow)
The real tragedy
was when the sky unleashed her pouring wrath
Do you remember how quickly
we tumbled down that yellow cobblestone street?
My right foot slipped on wet stone
You grabbed my hand without looking
as if your instincts were wired to catch me
when I inevitably fall before you
I flicked damp hair off your cheek
Your palm found home on the nape of my neck
and when our lips met
you laughed into my mouth
It was funny
How the rain stopped soon after
Almost as if its only purpose
was to urge your hand to grab mine
My touch was static
charged volts with violent desires
I drew back
to contain the sparks
You cried out
and placed my hand on your heart
You thought the electricity
would bring you back to life
But you never blinked
when I failed to thread the needle
every stitch incomplete
The water spills past the dam, still
Did you want me to drown?
When our legs were entangled
and my curls splayed across your pillowcase
my battle scars disguised themselves
as marks of your affection
Purple and blue and yellow
On my neck
chest
stomach
in between my thighs
I didn’t know
I was a masochist
I would bite your skin
aching to show you
I, too, could play your games
The white handkerchief taunted me
I used it
to wipe the blood
trickling down my chin
I would let myself burn
if that’s what you wanted
Rub me into your wounds
My ashes could be your salve
But if we were so vicious
together
Why does the wind scream in my ears
and push my body backward
so I stumble into your arms
once again?
What does mother earth know
that I don’t?
MiC Columnist Dheeksha Krishnan can be reached at dheeksha@umich.edu.
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