I hope this poem finds you well

or rather, I hope this poem finds you as you are | Love, Anagha

I hope this poem finds you well. 

Or rather, I hope this poem finds you as you are. In the weary sun of a morning, where the face in the mirror is suddenly older than you remember. In the damp cold of a parking lot, as you stall for a moment before heading into lonely corridors and busy rooms. In the sunken heat of the town you swore to leave. In the sunken memory of the country you cannot return to. I hope this poem finds you. On a Sunday afternoon. When you return to yourself, arms open, as though you were walking into the sea. When you’ve found a story to tell the child you used to be. I hope this poem finds you. On a day when the past holds your head under a dark, brackish water. When the future is stillborn.

I hope this poem finds you. When you are scrolling on your phone, because you too are a moth reaching for a rectangle of light, mistaking it for a window.

I hope this poem finds you. After all these years, on the side of a darkening, suburban street, flecks of evening falling around you like a quiet ash-rain. I hope this poem finds you. With a movie playing in the background: hero and journey, enemy turning into lover, someone’s warm breath against someone’s warm skin. But you are bored already, head against your palm, trying to add up the small sum of your days. And what does it all amount to? So I hope this poem finds you. As you are. Threading through the eye of the world. Pulled by the hair through the fabric of time. Stark and alive, in all your restless beauty

Love,

Anagha 

I know you are reading this poem because there is nothing else
left to read
there where you have landed, stripped as you are.

- Adrienne Rich, Dedications