Dhwanee Goyal

Small Town Conclusions

In the cigarette smoke by the storefront, says the awning
to the shadow: Just know that I have always loved you.
The lazing cats pitter-pattering at the door, then lapping
at customers’ feet when they enter. Oh gosh, the summer
unfolded like a deck of cards—I have possessed fifty-two
different faces. The houses on both sides changing colour
as I rode past. At the photo booth in the fair, I could
have gone anywhere: could have been a flooding river
confined to the valley, wild and rushed. Instead,
as the photographer rapidly snapped the shutter before me,
I thought of the oil streaking the sidewalk— how even
pollution when done right can be something beautiful.
Can become something to tame, like a bouquet
of wildflowers on the centre table.

Within this poem, I exist as a room
spacious enough to occupy.