Response Poem 4 : Pallavi Verma
A rehearsal of Loss I fit in your old clothes Somedays they look new on me Other days, I can breathe the smell of your being in them Mother and I, pack for you silver jhumki’s with a handwoven Kantha embroidery kurta A distant relative flying to Chicago will deliver it to you Wear them till you lose interest in them And the next time, when you meet bring that kurta to leave it with me I will fit in it only to breathe the smell of your being after you have departed You won’t return back ever to this homeland We knew the night we saw you off. You drove away from our door . And the night, It left the earth the way a broken man, his lover’s door closing behind him, leaves the street in silence for the rest of his life. Note: In response to "The Rehearsal of Loss"