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.