[166 words]
I am losing the names for things
though I remember clearly
the summers of yore
spent exhaustingly–
braiding corn silk,
tethering dragonflies,
air thick
with the scent
of bulbous apricots,
our skins dappled
in their gold.
As night fell,
we too would collapse
like drunk bees.
That old walnut tree–
its boughs we trusted
before we were taught
caution–
stands no more.
The cousins I grew up with
in the same house
now house
their own unknown malaises.
We call each other
occasionally
recollecting old memories
into the folds of our aging skin–
the peels of laughter
infused with
dried peals of oranges.
I want to tell her
how she shaped me
but
words slip–
apricot juice
running off
my fingers.
Saba Zahoor is an engineer, born in Kashmir and currently living in Saudi Arabia. She is a self-styled peasant poet who views poetry as a portal to alternate realities.
