The Annual Sale by Kushal Poddar

Published by

j re crivello

on

The books with broken spines

our library sells in an annual event

never fail to bring her, and that’s

the one time we see her, ever more brittle,

paler, onion skinned, more silent

with a trace of a smile fixated on her face.

This year we shall miss her. We whisper.

The other day one of us read

the obituary. The news spread.

This is a Spring event, and it has arrived.

Its fingers pry open the colour cores

of the trees. It brought a sense of loss,

and we gather what we can spare.

We look for tomorrow and sends

the announcements of the sale of yesterdays.

This night sleep makes me sweat,

and shiver when I discard the comforter.

On the morning of the sale I wake up,

brew, pour and stir a belief that she will

already be there when we open

those heavy doors, aware of what

we’ll sell and exactly what she needs

however torn that might be.