Fear of change in the middle of the night
April 9th 2012
Do you remember lying in your bed in Bombay, fan whirring, the grills on the whole building wearing their drying laundry coats over their rust coats? They were quivering like they were afraid of what you were afraid of.
This is right then.
Bombay will never leave me. She will stay as grit under my nails, as kisses from a lover from the touch of the overhead fan, as the desperate cry of a stray cat: so loud, so unheard.
