from october by Anoushka Kumar

sometimes, in november’s backwaters,

atlas hangs; a limp bleakness from

monkey-bars. he presses youth

encased in ivory & a

lamb’s bleating sonata;

a palm grazed in contradictions.

wiccan rise from pangea’s graves encircling bonfires;

we, like fluttering disciples to a skyline’s

whims. graceland isn’t enough for now,

as a whispering naiad’s last breaths

step into a kiln’s fading asphalt.

tyres crunch, a leave’s sorry parting gift.

milkweed inhaled once always leaves an imprint,

you say as you press half-moons into irises

and wish for a little bit of hope.

later, when a doublet’s sheen

is swept into a midwinter breeze

I sink into a hammock’s linen 

and brush miscarried dirt

into my lungs. 

someone’s diwali lights are up 

too early, 

but it can never be too early.

so this is the world.

I’m not in it.

It is beautiful.

---

Anoushka Kumar (she/her) is a writer and student from India whose work is either published or forthcoming in the Heritage Review, the Indigo Literary Journal, the Augment Review, the Qualia Review and the Young Writers Initiative. She is on the editorial team of the Interstellar Review Gossamer Lit and Cathartic Lit; and some of her writing can be found on her instagram account, @outofthebluewrites.