if I take my pills sober I sweat all through the night I drag my feet for hours across the ocean floor lullabies dribble from my blue lips the water is cold rushes in through my cut feet
I rummage for blankets in the closet my ears still full of muted water sounds I have been asleep with the lights on I swim back to bed dripping
I watch my brother cough himself awake on the train—or I imagine I do— somewhere between Benares and Delhi we've been rushing through rice paddies pressed by a pale sky the morning through and he's missed it
It's only when the puddles of lilies are over and the train slows into the station that I can admit he isn't here with me
Alone on the Poorva Express I've fallen asleep thinking about teaching him a lesson in running away from home.
Jamie Samdahl is a poet and naturalist from Princeton, Massachusetts. She has been published in Washington Square Review, Mountain Record: The Zen Practitioner’s Journal, Canopic Jar, Poetica Magazine, and elsewhere. In the spring of 2013, she was named winner of the 90th Annual Glascock Intercollegiate Poetry Prize.