November 4, 2015

One poem by Anuja Ghimire


That night in June
A plane landed on my living room in Kathmandu
A sharp 45- degree angle
Right between my cousins, and brother, and I
It had passed through the roof and dodged the kitchen
As wide as my embrace
We continued to talk about samosas and tea
I helped strangers get out of the windows and fill the space
Waking up with outstretched arms in September
Just before the planes hit two buildings in New York
Footage hotter than the flames
I was in Wayne, Nebraska that crisp Tuesday morning
It was like the winter I climbed down Mt. Everest when I was ten
With Sonam Tshring Sherpa on my wrists
They said he was forever an avalanche
But he was light and at peace with the frostbite
Like my palms that were beginning to warm up
Now, I am too cold to see
What I believe to be
Mornings don’t blend with the nights
Places don’t bend with time
And seasons change without magic
When flights are incomplete in December
I cannot save them anymore

Anuja Ghimire is from Kathmandu, Nepal. Her poetry is published in Red River Review, Words Like Rain, Glass, Clay, Ishaan Literary Review, The Rainbow Journal, La.Lit Literary Magazine, Stone Path Review, the MOON Magazine, Right Hand Pointing, The New Verse News, Zest Literary Magazine, Euonia Review, Shot Glass Journal, and Constellations. She lives in Dallas, Texas with her husband and two little girls and writes poetry. Some of her published writing can be found in

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