Nora Gupta
Suppose I stopped running.
Suppose I stopped running.
for Kate
Suppose I let your laughter twirl / my hair. Suppose my stomach didn’t knot / as you laid bedridden blocks away, your heart readying / to stop. Suppose I stopped let the soles of my feet bleed / into the road’s endless tar, let the horizon blur / into the fields’ grassy mouths. Suppose summer’s silence sweetened / until it was too sweet to swallow, my caramel breath clouding / the air like cigar smoke. Suppose I filled / your maple-soft hand with mine. Suppose / your pulse didn’t slow as mine / quickened. Suppose your eyelids, though touched / by gravity, never closed. Suppose I stopped running / and October never ended and orange-brown clung / to branches instead of tears yolking / my eyes. Suppose I sat in frosted grass and read / this poem into the ear of a tree stump. Suppose / I stared into the cooling coals of a forgotten fire pit until they were / your sea-black eyes. Suppose my words float off / this wrinkled page, suppose my rhymes glide / like silk. Suppose you really do hear me.
Nora Gupta is a student poet at the Bronx High School of Science. She is Editor-in-Chief for Double Yolk, a publication featuring poets of color and their creative processes. Nora has received recognition from several organizations, such as the National Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, the National YoungArts Foundation, Princeton University, National Council of Teachers of English, Gannon University and Smith College. You will find Nora’s poetry in the upcoming issues of Notre Dame Review and Sho Poetry Journal.