eclipse plumage

by Akhila Pingali

it was already monsoon when the last day of summer rose

in a final burst nearly purpling the sunbirds again. 

a future gaped open. a season become palimpsest. 

but there we were. baggage straining on the other side of goodbye.

you came around or maybe not.

a point trajectorized or blotted out.

we held fast. our bodies ground years between them. 

forked tongue of memory split at the seams scattering 

personal codes across the concourse. 

we could pick them up later. we could unpack them all prospectively in fact —

the rain wasn’t due for a cycle at least. 

when we parted at last, it was the most we had ever loved. 

in a pocket keys turned cosmic mass burned heavy. 

an itch beginning in dead cells ballooned into life 

portending. then

i opened my eyes at a chirp 

to a yellow and eclipsed thing.

Akhila Pingali is a research scholar and translator based in Hyderabad, India. She has an MA in English Literature. Her work has appeared (or is forthcoming) in SoFloPoJo, Five Minutes, Brave Voices Magazine, Tint Journal, Contemporary Literary Review India, and in an anthology called Ninety-Seven Poems.