It’s cold enough that both
my obligatory huff of an exhale
and that of a dumb dog
remain visible, lingering stagnant
and momentary. Blossoming in
front of me
then, gone,
as whispers straining away
on the biting July wind.
I draw in; feel a tightening
in my trachea.
Hold – something putrid and coiling is
birthed in my stomach
creeping upwards as if water
in the xylem of a rotting flower. Against every
natural law it blooms into my
mouth, claustrophobic. Leathery
petals press against my tongue
and crowd my gums. Threatening my throat.
I exhale, and frown at my living.
Seeking some bittersweet comfort,
that my quivering fingers are
so frozen that they ache. A ritual,
a ceremony made up of twigs and
spikes. I swallow and it feels
like a seed pod has lodged itself
inside me. Like I might start
crying pebbles any minute now.
Like this,
I burgeon another cranberry hour away.
Lotus Das-Hyland (she/her) is an Indian-Irish student from Melbourne, Australia who recently completed the International Baccalaureate diploma program. After graduating high school in November 2024, she is looking forward to growing and improving her writing at university. When she’s not busy studying, she enjoys visiting new places, making music, and writing stories in her Notes app.