Who knows where the end should be
It was my turn
I swallowed the rosy-red moon
She lingered in the pit of my throat
Hovered in my chest
Then emitted gentle pulses
To all my flaccid limbs
Imbedded memories begged for my attention
Copious verses
For parents departed
A cousin and auntie chat fest
Extended beyond the dusty dawn
Maybe it ends here
Bridal trousseau in leather case
Carefully curated
Little girl in blue frilly dress
Oversized binoculars on her neck
Maybe it ends here
India ink-stained fingers
Wielding a bamboo reed pen
Polaroid portrait snapped
With Daisy the blue parakeet
Maybe it ends here
After school splash time in the crick
Playmate’s orange muddied feet and hands
Her mom’s creamy banana pudding
Tops my sister’s soggy rendering
Maybe it ends here
Restful sleep attainable
Only with Dad’s water buffalo bedtime stories
And a bellyful of Mom’s sugar stuffed paratha
Dipped into sweetened yogurt
Maybe it ends here
Maybe where the end should be
Is where it all started
By Tabassam Shah, Clarion, PA
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