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In Search of Home

Note: This poem was originally published in Venus Magazine right by radio city music hall,

that middle section of the city where everything is too loud,

that place between my ankles and toes where i still hurt.

each subway stop is a memory,

a passing inspection of past introspection,

some sort of reverse clairvoyance,

my eyes stick to the tiles like i am kissing you

all over again,

like i am home.

i feel warm where i shouldn’t,

cold where i shouldn’t,

i feel the sky in my arms and i wonder if she cries at night too.

i wonder if she feels alone like i do.

time square where the clock is ticking,

where the tourists are scanning the streets

for a polyester clad pickpocket.

we are all looking for things we will never find.

i am looking for your lips

through the lambswool section of j crew,

searching for that feeling like i am safe,

like between your arms is the sun,

like together we are the universe and i am whole,

again.

intensity in eyedrops,

in insulin tablets at the doctor's office,

listening but they do not hear me,

something like pinecones pricking the insides of me,

quietly pooling bits of blood in my sides.

intensity like crying on the subway,

like two songs that break a hole in my belly,

trapping me beneath signs of pretend summer sun,

dan smith will teach you guitar,

something that was supposed to be soft,

rough beneath my broken baby-skin finger pads.

intensity like my city, like their city, like her city, his city,

inten-city.

we are all looking for things we will never find.

like i don’t mean to miss you,

don’t intend to smell you

in the soft waft of central park breeze,

like i do anyway.

like maybe i am shortchanging,

pulling pennies from my own pockets

in an effort to soothe momentary sores.

solitude in between black bushes in the park,

in search of something inevitable,

unprofitable.

in search of something surreal.

in search of home.

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©2018 BY ANANYA KUMAR-BANERJEE.

PHOTOs COURTESY OF CAROLINE MAGAVERN & MATT NADEL.