The red wine rippled in her glass
as she moved closer to me, eyes
dewy earnest. She asked if I believed
in life on some other planet. And I
wanted to tell her, that through
some combination of my senses,
through the alien sheen of her
purple dress and the dark red wine
she held so precipitously in her
hand, that how could I not? I
found that I could not explain
how dearly I believed that there
were creatures out there, hovering
between a black sky and a red moon,
who feel insatiably lost. Maybe they
pace chemical beaches or drink
phosphorene in the morning, and
feel a strange beating inside of them.
Maybe they stare at each other until
they are convinced of their loneliness.
My friend has sunk into the couch,
limbs heavy with alcohol and sleep.
When she is awake, I will find it in me
to tell her how I have been waking up
with a paperweight in my chest ever
since we lost him, so she knows she was
not the only one.
Kiran Masroor is a sophomore at Yale University where she studies Neuroscience under the pre-medical track. On campus she is involved in TEETH Slam Poetry, Timmy Global Health, and Yalies for Pakistan. Her poetry has been published in publications such as the Connecticut Literary Anthology, the Yale Literary Magazine, the Yale Global Health Review, and the New York Quarterly.