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Purgatorial

MRINAL PATTANAIK
I spend all night braiding her hair. She smiles,
               lets her lashes catch plaster dust. We drive
out to the farthest edge of the earth, where
               streetlights reflect against wet asphalt
and mildew stench leaves us behind. It begins
               like this: billboards in the sunset, her fingers
above my own, something like I could love you. I fold
               my worries under my hemline and still my
hands against the steering wheel. She holds
               me like a tentative future, like almost-commitment,
like a healing bruise, purple-yellow. It feels
               like this: a flash of teeth, cherry-tinted dawn,
the edges of a burning dream. She says:
               if we go home we’re there forever. I say
I don’t care as long as I’m with her. It ends
               like this: mismatched hunger, aching bones,
suburban skylines and raven-littered orchards. I swallow
               her apologies like white wine, this lover’s elegy,
this almost-something. Someday, I pray
               to bury our yearning in the fauna to rest.
Mrinal Pattanaik is a student at Neuqua Valley High School. She is currently an editor for her school's literary magazine, The Essence. Her work has been recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing awards, the Belin-Blank Center for Gifted Education, and the Live Poets Society of New Jersey.
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  • Home
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  • Issues
    • Issue I
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    • Issue III
    • Issue IV
    • Issue V