BEDTIME STORY

RACHANA HEGDE

 
 

dusk ribbons into fraying smoke
that rims mama’s spectacles;
 
nightfall mottles my skin.
 
I pray for a bedtime story with ghosts
that stay the night, to lick the walls
 
clean of ink, to muzzle the steep
mountains silvering outside.
 
I have found ingredients for tall tales
in angled hallways made of slack mouths
 
teething. on our balcony, rain washes
crude sculptures clean. in the lullaby,
 
a girl with sodden clothes begs
for immortality. in my bedroom,
 
a spirit slips down my throat,
trembling as it settles in my belly.

 

 
 

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