Epigraphs

i
On some days we felt like the insides of a crowded city
while the horns blared outside
and people exchanged places,
we sat on the corner of our beds
waiting to see who would leave first.
I am convinced that it is always staying which hurts more.

ii
We spent years thinking
what our skins would smell like
when in love.
Mine smells of ashes.

iii
Words from our last conversation
curl around my tongue
and on some nights
I send them to you as apologies
and all you say is
there is always a time for something.
I wonder if there would be a time for us too.

iv
Sitting at the bookstore I once told you
how I love books with short yet meaningful epigraphs.
Something like, ‘mother, they write poems’.
And maybe someday
if I choose to write a book
our last words can be the epigraph.

v
There’s too much noise in my room today.
It feels like the city has flooded through the window
and I don’t know where to stand
so I try to walk in all the empty places
to feel a little less lonely.

vi
Mother says one can never know what the other feels
so I look for you in your handwritten letters
and epigraphs sold as, dedicated to you
while yours starts with –
‘even if we leave, the universe will always hold us’
mine ends as –
‘here’s a poem for you
which doesn’t contain us’.