“the last poem”

by Neha Rayamajhi

Bodies are stubborn.

Sometimes they refuse to surrender 

even when you want them to.

Mine is rebellious like that –  

she holds grief like a mother holds a newborn. 

Last week I dropped to the kitchen floor 

in the middle of figuring out an alternative for basil.

The nurse said anxiety attack

I told him it was my body leading a rebellion;

she doesn't know how to let go. 

The summer he left the first time: 

I cried so much

my body convinced me 

we were an ocean.

Now when we are lonely, we pull

poems out of his empty section of the closet.

Review the pros and cons of 

saying goodbye

to a man who has left me more 

times than he has said he loves me. 

This body is stubborn.

She refuses to surrender even when I plead.

She holds grief. 

Like a mother latches onto a newborn,

so she holds onto you. 

Neha Rayamajhi (she/her) is a storyteller and a cultural worker who uses multidisciplinary art. She is passionate about creating spaces and art that revolve around decolonial politics, diasporic nostalgia, and the joys of reimagining anti-oppressive futures. Her work has appeared in the South Asia Journal, Chambers, La Lit Magazine and other online publications. Neha was born and raised in Nepal, and currently lives in Massachusetts. You can find more about her at neharayamajhi.com.