By Ritoshree Chatterjee

moulting

maman, i died by the shore tonight.

the sea wept a soft lavender afterthought
and sand snuck in my heart till
a peanut-seller’s pockets spilled out the evening

maman, i died by the shore tonight

the waves lapped up my little girl’s body
and now that the Sun has set
i fumble for the woman they promised in the dark.

i want to marry a mermaid

you have searched for it too, i know —
in brute hearts and pincer-arms
who would turn their masts for

a song of a flesh, then sail for land
leaving night to fester open, as you
slept, split open like orange hibiscus

no, you shall not cover your breasts this time
you will stand - as immense as wounds
and nakedness

till your legs spread the sea open
we become water
and the earth cracks open a bit.

tempest

it is always calm at the centre.

when the sea swept off my girl-body,
there was only tinsel left by the beach

at night, all women in white make way to the shore
wrinkled sea-slugs, soft anemones — they say
the sea has promised to devour like no sailor did

so i lie on the sand

and break
and break
and break

till water wets my bones
and i let it know
the soft nature of things.

Ritoshree Chatterjee pursues her undergraduate degree in English literature and struggles to locate herself through writing amidst the chaos. Her poems have appeared in Café Dissensus, Madras Courier, The Punch Magazine (The Poetry Issue 2022), The Late Night Poets’ Anthology, The Armchair Journal, and Plato's Caves online.

Banner image is by Adrien King and downloaded from unsplash.com