Rucha Virmani

2nd January, the Airport

How still the coconut trees looked,
how dark, on the other side of the river,
no ferry, forbidden to me in that sultry night
of stars. Realised my arms ached
from holding the reins of feeling for so
long, and turned back
to look at you. Felt the need
to put some distance between my life
and myself, so went on a walk
and pretended everything
was steeped in myth. Noted the pleasure
of the storks with their legs in salt water,
tried putting my own feet in there too.
Not the same. Watched from afar as my hands,
those helpless birds, collided again and again
with the paper-thin window, hoping to reach
that other side. Counted all the things I wanted:
guava slices with pink patches of salt
like hickeys on throats. To touch the earth.
Outside, a soft dusting of snow, and the heat rising
from the salt like a haze, enough to blind you.
Touchdown delayed by 20 minutes. Till then,
fingers greased with the fat of wrapped airplane fries.
Desire in me like your coat hung
on a branch like a flower, unbloomed.
My body taut like a plucked violin string,
sensitive to the beauty of it all: metal tube cutting
through the stars, the wind twisting
the fate of the coconut fronds in its hands.
But beyond it all, a coldness,
and the dark canines of the sky coming out.
So far up above you, my ear hurts
in the pressure of the plane, and I hear what
I imagine to be music.

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Rucha Virmani is a second year student at Ashoka University in India. She started The Climatopia Project to use creative writing for climate activism. Her work has been published by Young Poets Network, The Dark Mountain Project, Polyphony Lit and Briefly Zine. She was selected to participate in the Ellipsis Writing Workshop in the summer of 2022.