When Memories Rain

 

I don’t know when the rains started to bleed.

A taste of salty pining, a dash of

Peppered moments and memories, dancing together

Their bodies, clasped, loosening, melting, blurring.

I don’t know when my clay hands composed you,

Mold after mold, structure, shape, dimension

Nestled in the embrace of these coiled fingers,

Your cinnamon breath, blowing its fragments,

Mingling with my own, tearing me open,

The gash of my wounds, alive, and trembling still.

I don’t know when the smell of long lost love

Stark dead, ghost-white, wafts along

The interstate where the night reveals

And sea winds soar and sing, the smell

Of burnt lips entwined, slicing through

The raging night, earnest, shadowy, whispering.

I don’t know when the downpour stopped,

The blood, the tears, the salt tickling me,

Pulling me within, deeper still,

My crust and core, rising, floating

In the debris of the days, lost.

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About Lopa Banerjee

Lopa Banerjee has studied Creative Nonfiction at the University of Nebraska at Omaha and has a Masters' in English and Journalism from Kolkata, India. She has written a a book-length collection of personal essays and also a poetry collection. She is a regular contributor to 'Cafe Dissensus', an alternate journal of literature and the arts. Her poetry and essays have also appeared at journals and anthologies including 'Fine Lines', 'About Place', 'Yahoo Voices', 'Northeast Review', 'River Poets' Journal', 'Indian Review', ‘The Mind Creative’, 'Prairie Fire' and 'Incredible Women of India'.

21 thoughts on “When Memories Rain

  1. Dr.prahallad satpathy

    Intoxicating.
    Rain reigning in heart
    Drenching body mind and soul.
    All wounds gets washed away.
    Thanks ma’am.

    Reply

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