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.