by on August 25, 2023 :: 0 comments

The summers exhaust me.
Maybe I’m not made for the sun.
Maybe, the sweat steaming off my body
is just a constant reminder of how quickly
vitality evaporates from our lives.
My garden is a desiccated ruin of soil and leaf.
You’ll recognize bereavement in my fig trees,
fruit shed and disposed, standing naked,
gazing at their purple sunken tips.

My orange edged ferns droop in misery, defeated.
My bougainvillea would scream if it could at the parched air,
soft pink flowers vapoured into nothingness.
I split open a stem yesterday, I needed to find green,
some life, to see if alive could sometimes
appear dehydrated and drained.
The ragged cleavage didn’t disappoint.

Have you ever inhaled the scent of a tree revealing itself to you?
I’ve heard stories about Pine trees that smell like raspberries.
My Dracaena smells a little like sweet lemon and perseverance.

– Shikha Lamba

editors note:

A little perseverance is needed all around in this endless heat. Breathe deeply, friends! – mh clay

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