Poem by Vidushy Avasthi

Art by J. Sassi

I weave my memory of people

from threads they leave behind.

The gas station next to their bus stop,

silent car rides after driving tests,

rum and cokes

and gin and tonics.

All the little things,

everything we ever laughed and fought about,

tucked in a pattern

preserving it forever.

Dancing in July rain in your school uniform,

luggage you bought when we weren’t going anywhere.

Carrom with coffee,

crosswords with tea.

I’ll think of you 

time and time and time.

Bits of my memory slip out

like a shawl through a ring

and when I have nothing left to hold on to,

I’ll drape myself in your fabric

and remember the people I knew.