Sarosh Nandwani
body
i begin with my
cold toes, the ones
that have dug into
dirt, that i press to
his thighs for warmth,
i say thank you, for being
a miracle of balance
and stability; i move to
my feet, heels, ankles,
how they pain me
when i jump from too
high up, how they propel
me from place to place,
thank you; my calves,
how they ache after a
night of garba, how shin
splints pierce me, i thank
you; to my knees, stupid
knees, injured knees, sensitive
knees, thank you for healing,
for bending, for letting me
take shits and run; thighs,
how do i tell you how you
make me burn when he
is between them - thank
you.
soliloquy about my period
needy. the week before my period starts i ache
for touch. i agitate. i sob. i would like to be
simultaneously left alone and immersed in another
body. this is a letter to everyone. that i will not
send. i need more love from you. today,
i am unruly, perhaps less likeable, hungry, bloated.
i have made a bricolage of comfort out of candles,
lavender, and old spice deodorant. i am not ready
for the day to love me. there is no patience here.
replete with frustration, i sleep, mentally exhausted.
tactile familiarity
i walk into a home that is not mine but a family that will be. walk into my lover,
who is wearing the same clothes he spooned me in. the same clothes he took
off.
his father sinks into the couch, glasses glowing with the TV. his sister hovers in
the kitchen, a bird, flighty, nudging the island with her hip. her vocal fry draws me
in. his mother waits, an empty nester.
dinner emerges in a frenzy and i am foolishly patient, too cautious with my
movements. this is a home that loves food, arrives with it.
they eat with their hands and i feel out of place. i do not know how to be so
intimate with food. do not know how to use my fingers to scoop it into my mouth.
do not know how to feel each grain of rice. i do not understand this closeness. i
use a spoon.
there is something holy in this tactile familiarity. the way my lover scoops me up.
how he brings himself close, melts into me.
sarosh (she/her) is a mechanical engineer & anthropologist, and is particularly interested in the overlap between those subjects. she loves experimenting with her curly hair and shopping at farmer's markets. she is a reader for the Longleaf Review and Anomaly Lit. Twitter/Instagram: @saroshnandwani