Words and photo by Avani Chhaya
THIS IS A SUBMISSION PIECE UNDER OUR FREELANCE SECTION, PULP.
feels like an ill-fitting name for the
battering and the barrage
Ice started to sleepily stretch across black pavements,
knowing no better
Frozen water swallowing up heaters in
quick, successive gulps
Layering with hats and a mental fortitude,
tucking into sleeping bags and in the farthest recesses
Lines that snake b l o c k after b l o c k
in the meek daylight. The inside offering no respite, only empty shelves
Cries want to burst out like water
bellowing from busted pipes
Your reserves are low: of water, of resilience
Worry presses on shoulders until you sink into
inky blackness that offers no comfort
All too flawed politicians and energy grids
Teetering on the brink of the
wholly unexpected
Our lives trembled from it all.
About the writer
Avani Chhaya is an avid reader, writer, traveler, and dreamer. Her stories have been featured in the Library Love Story and the Common Ground Series on KUT. Her artwork has been featured in Elisabet Ney’s Suffrage Now Exhibit.