early morning interlude by Trishala Vardhan

early morning interlude

lately,
i find myself pulled
to
the pulse of the world:
the push
of my dog’s wet nose
against my hand.

come play,
she whines,
and
i do:
i savor the sweet bite of the wind
against my cheek,
the soft brush
of paws pressed to my leg.

i cling
to the crushed earth,
soil and sentiment
stored
in the synapses of my silence.

i welcome
the wisps of breath
in
the wintry air:
the warmth an exhalation,
a flicker of fleeting
heat
in coarse fur:
the flame-tongued hope
of my dog’s open
mouth.

look,
there is still beauty,
says the fresh white
of her coat,
the clean green of the grass
gripping my toes.
there is still silence you can sing to.

i blink
past the burn in my eyes.
curl my fingers
to capture
the cadence of the cold.

yes,
i think to myself.
yes.

there is still beauty.
there is still song.

there is still hope.

*

Trishala Vardhan is a 26-year old (Asian) Indian who has lived in the lap of language for as long as she can remember. She is a poet who believes in precious little save the gravity of grief, love and memory. Words (and the silences that serve and surround them) have always been her way of life. Her work has been featured in SwimPress, PinkHeart Magazine, and Stone Circle Review