by Anuja Ghimire

I’ve given her blood poems
Her pale hands return them, dried
I’ve offered her my young dreams
Sometimes, standing in three feet of snow
With open eyes, when the heat burns holes in the sky
Fifteen years, I’ve carried water
What can I grow in a land that isn’t mine?
How can I sing about my pangs in her tongue?
Just like the gasoline unseen
I pour into a portal and seal the broken parts
Every morning, I see the road
she’s paved for my leaving
But I’ve built her a trailer in ink
There a kitchen
A bed, two chairs
She has shut her eyes until it’s dark
Which star do I follow
when she asks me to go back?

About the Author
Anuja Ghimire is a native of Kathmandu, Nepal where she started writing at the age of five. She was published by the age of sixteen. Anuja came to the U.S. as a college student. She started getting published since 2008. That year, she was a featured poet at Austin International Poetry Festival. She has published more than 60 works of poetry, flash fiction, and essay in the U.S., Nepal and Canada. Anuja’s poem “Six,” published in Right Hand Pointing, was nominated for Pushcart in 2015. She won a two-liner contest for Dying Dahlia Review in March 2017. In April of 2017, she is a featured poet at No Extra Word, celebrating National Poetry Month. She lives near Dallas, Texas with her husband and two daughters and works in the e-learning industry.