RECOVERY IN SEPTEMBER. (poem)

They moved towards the dark,
matching his slow steps. He, humming
his blurred laugh, more blurred
with feet.

Darker was the bus,
where I stood beside him,
waiting for a shift. He didn’t.
Rude, I thought. While the
town moved behind, his broken
speech broke the smooth move.
My tired day found peace in the
move. His shrill voice
continued.

I looked at him for a blink.
Went blank for five another.
I looked at his mother for a blink.
His hands she held,
‘It is September, You are recovering,’
she said. I heard him again.
‘High spirits,’ I felt.

‘Five more minutes, almost there,’
he said to my impatience. I smiled
without sympathies. He was beautiful.

Brake. They moved towards the dark,
matching his slow steps. He, humming
his blurred laugh, more blurred
with feet. She, still holding his hands,
helping his broken bones,
wrapped in brown.

-Mrinalini Raj