I do not remember her name
only the way it rolled from her tongue
through pursed lips
the last syllable lingering
like droplets of wine
or essence of cloves and cinnamon,
waterfall of curls cascading
into mist of woman.
Did she dissolve in the fog of years?
Or was she conjured in dream as I slept
through the Perseids?
Still she hovers
as ghost of perfume, scent of night
moonless, starless after rain.
Sarath Reddy’s poetry has been influenced by his experiences as an Indian-American, as a physician, and as a father. Sarath’s poetry has been published in JAMA, Another Chicago Magazine, Poetry East, The Healing Muse, and Paterson Literary Review. He lives in Brookline, Massachusetts with his wife and three children