by Mandira Pattnaik
In Mandira Pattnaik’s prose poem, the narrator, while on a real and metaphorical walk, trudges through the labyrinthine passages of the mind of an older woman struggling with age-related memory issues.
While on a walk round the garden you tended, I discover a tapestry of your thoughts, two crooning birds, and recesses carved out for beds of petunia behind the rows of dahlia.
While on a walk near the deodars on the periphery, I see you on the window upstairs, looking out for me, like you did years ago, as we sisters came home after school.
While on a walk between the iron-grilled verandah and your sick-bed, I find you seeking your charcoal pencils, enquiring about the artist of the landscape on the wall which you sketched.
While on a walk under the half-moon, between the halves of your fulfilment and abandon, I discover sequins in the musty folds of sarees you saved for us.
While on a walk around the archaic mahogany furniture, I discover you scouring for my name, drawing the blinds, and asking if Dad, gone long ago, was home for dinner.
While on a walk by your meandering mindscapes, I tread unlit pathways, discover a kaleidoscope of yearnings, some frozen ripples and a scoop of treasured gems.
While on a walk on the fringes of your muddled memories, I pause to collect myself, and you, while we drift, and coast, along the river you were named after.
Mandira Pattnaik divides her time writing poetry and fiction. Recent publications include TBLM, RuncibleSpoon, Nymphs, CabinetofHeed, Eclectica, Lunate and (Mac)ro(mic). Her fiction is also currently featured in the Editor’s Picks at JuggernautBooks.
