Apple Cores | Megha Saha

Megha Saha

At five o’clock my right elbow grazes the wall
And I tell myself, do not make this about the wall
How many layers of skin has it claimed? Not many
Take-out, customer service, wannabe Ikea fixtures, untimely
Polaroids- everything I ever wanted under one roof
And on some days, stuffed into my backpack-
On some days, you will be dragged out of your hole
By your foot with your legs unshaven, still-

I was in a mood, tossed myself into the back of a
Grimy eatery- hated it, tossed myself into my bed
Like a half-eaten bird tossed into the sink- it blows,
How long have I been using these words? How long
Have I been color-coding my outfits with ‘do you hate
The shape of my face?’ and ‘hey, I can gulp it down but
Still joke about it’- the pile of clothes-chair is real, the hair
In the sink- won’t budge on its own

Everything else about a twenty-year old mind- questionable
All the leg-room wanting, gyrating, texts bombarding, cosmic apologies-
Just a phase- and I sculpted apple cores with my teeth-
Avoided the middle and maintained a record of things not to be
Meddled with- but, picture this- in a week, in a month you will
Be completely distracted- covered in scum, sweat, grass,
Or maybe whisked away in a bottomless sail-boat or lying still
Like a bag of frozen peas with the apple cores strewn all over

Megha Saha is a student of law at Gujarat National Law University.


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