blueprints lost in the silt — Dhaanvi Jaipuriar
i. the blueprints were lost in the silt so we build the morning from what remained: a hinge. a pulverized brick. a window that refuses to admit the sky.
ii. there is a weight to the air today. not oxygen-but the sediment of a 10:57 am phone call that never ended.
put your back against the door. wait for the house to stop breathing your name.
iii. the light is a structural failure. it enters through the cracks-a white lye pooling on the floor, bleaching the wood with the memory of a jagged laugh.
don’t repair the leak. let the salt-water of it rise. this is how you learn to swim without moving.
iv. in the corner, a silence is growing teeth.
it looks like him. it smells of cardamom, ginger, clove. it wants to be fed.
instead, offer it your own pulse. count the beats until the ghost pulls up a chair; until you forget which of you is made of wood.
v. the world is a shuddering machine waiting for you to break the lease.
don’t wait for the vibration to stop. the shivering is the only way you know the engine is still running.
turn the lock. step out. carry the ruins as if they were an ornament.
Dhaanvi Jaipuriar is a 14 year old who spends her time reading, playing tennis, riding horses, and watching Friends. Her publications include Eunoia Review and Blue Marble Review.