wutheringheights

Two days ago, I read a poem "The day I got the news" by Cynthia Snow from an old edition (2009) of The Massachusetts Review. Not my kind of poem, hihi..but liked it...Here's the full version... My heart rose up through my throat and skittered away like a Lucifer hummingbird. I reached out to grab hold but you know hummingbirds fast, featherweight, short on trust. I couldn't stem the exodus. I'm not the Messiah though I did want sun streaked white clouds, brightness everywhere. I could only watch the smallest blur of wings, a stop motion gaze -- eyes on me, eyes away, body away, away, away, gone. And here at the kitchen window a sponge soaked with sugar water. And here, at the dining room table my hands, in the umbrella stand, six tidy, geometric holes. And here, in my throat, nothing but want of sugar.

  I didn’t know what to do with my business cards when I quit my job for good six month ago. There were three boxes, each containing 100 cards. I neither wanted to throw them into dustbin nor leave them unattended. Finally, when I cleaned the cubicle, I took them with me. At home, they found a safe place in my bookshelf. One day, I saw my six-year-old daughter Mihika building a castle using them. It was nice to watch the light-blue cards falling one after another. Not a great fall, but a fall indeed -- caught between the vibe of blue and white. When she was not in creative mood, Mihi would throw the cards all over the floor. The first two letters (highlighted) of the two-word name of the company would stare at me from different angles. A kaleidoscope of   ‘I’ and ‘e’. One day, I was surprised to see the old cards finding a place in my card-holder, replacing all the relevant ones. Here too, the ‘I’ and ‘e’ stared at me from each page. Mihi’s game with cards at times ended in ‘di