You could have a big dipper   

A Headache Holder by Praniti Gulyani




to say the very least –

I have a heavy head, and

with the stone that held Medusa, I will

carve a six-shelved

headache-holder and sprinkle

some starlight onto it, perhaps

I will pick my headaches off

my teenage-girl eyebrows, and place them

in the headache-holder

the meticulous bits of mother

in my heart, make me

arrange my headaches according to

shape and size and perhaps smell

I put the bigger ones

at the back, those coated

with perspiring layers of patience, picked

from that place between the eyebrows

and scraped off pillow-covers

with broken, yellowing nails

and then, I move –

onto the uncertain ones

those, that linger

between big and small

they squirm between

my fingers, as I scatter them around

the headache-holder putting some

at the back, some in the front

as they emit

short, sharp jerks

of bittersweet odor, picked

from the crest of my forehead

with quivering, unsure fingers

finally, I advance towards –

the smallest ones, that slither

like slippery, angry eels

and, as I struggle to tighten

my fists around them and place them

in the front, they slash my palms

with agonized, metallic tails

for they must be tucked into

frock-pockets, and threaded into

the underlying silences of a moment

they must not be put

on outstretched palms that face

even the sky

for they are pungent with football fields

and upturned socks and shoe polish

and ironed shirts and cigarette ends

and moldy sandwiches and shadows;

shadows that are lifted and slammed

against the frosty tiles of bedroom walls

shadows that are slammed and pushed

and slapped and stamped

and hurled

soundlessly

they are vibrant with the shades

of every thread, that embroiders

the extrinsic layers

of this tapestry called silence

carefully

concealing

what lies

inside



Praniti Gulyani, a seventeen year old girl from India. Twitter: @GulyaniPraniti

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