miss notyou, your pickledapples

by Srishti Dutta Chowdhury

Woman Drying Her Hair 1899, Joseph deCamp

railwaydim, long nights are

just cold-ash-stooped-blunt-tray,

i

stepped onto your toe bleed sucking ice,

tripped over greenbaskets,

drunk, as i smelt

in new apple-green from your

backyard,

mowing neighbourlawns to

buy a ticket to Charlotte,

it doesn’t snow enough here,

northern skylight armed,

the animals etched across our skin wanting a peep-out,

my quillless porcupine awaits,

’til we are picnicking over Genessee,

i don’t know a thing like the back of your ruddyfacedpalms

i mapped our treehouse on wrinkled

lines,

so,

i get notlost, norlost

i shall not be missed

packing in drysand in steady hands,

littering down footsteps,

i swerve by the wrong map

nylon clothesline hang wetink newloverlettered love,

looking away suitably retroussed,

nevereach-nevermiss

being missed,

Only,

roll out from your sack full of rejectible, un-dejected.

A student of Comparative Literature for most part of the day, Srishti Dutta Chowdhury reads, listens to whatever catches her fancy and writes a tad bit whenever she cannot do without putting some words to paper. She has been published at Coldnoon Travel Poetics, Bangalore Review, Quail Bell, the Brown Critique magazine, the Norwich Radical, Kindle, etc. Besides reading, writing, living poetry, she fancies herself as a food philanderer and keenly follows food photography. Her photography can be viewed at the Instagram handle ‘’srishtiduttachowdhury’’