galere
“What really counts in life is not our ability to evade chaos, but rather our capacity to meet it in such a manner as to not be irrevocably broken or demolished.”
the girl performed the severance ceremony bimonthly. she’d sit at the floor of her alter and spread her palms open to either side of her body. praying to Ganesha, the elephant-headed Lord of New Beginnings.
dear Ganesha, she’d say, release me.
with a mouth full of prisms, it was hard for the elephant to hear the girl, so sometimes the boy called her and other times he did not. it was impossible to be still amidst the passions of the heart. the girl spent more time imagining the limbs of her lanky lover than she did outside in the sunshine. her focus slipped from the pan to the puddle. she couldn’t cook or eat. she sat in the shower with her back to the spray and cried into the pools of water and mucus.
dear Ganesha, she’d say, what does it all mean?
with a body full of bruises, it was hard for the elephant to embrace the girl, so sometimes the boy texted her sweet things, and other times he did not. it was impossible to rise with the weight of longing. the girl spent more time reminiscing than acting in the world of forms. her apartment grew dusty from the constantly burning incense. mouse droppings appeared in scant piles. the girl tempted rodents with the dirty bowls and ceramic cups. a diet of oats and coffee was not enough to give strength to her suffering heart.
dear Ganesha, she’d say, I am sad.
with palms full of dried petals, it was hard for the elephant to pull the girl upright from the damp bedding, so sometimes the boy read her messages and other times he did not. we grow wise by what we lose, not by what we gain. the girl spent more time swimming in the stagnant air of her small studio apartment than she did in the light. birds beat their wings outside her window and the crickets groaned under the moon. the girl mimed playing the violin, stroking the air with her fingertips. she lacked the strength to engage the bow and string.
dear Ganesha, she’d say.
one evening, when the girl was prone on the floor wrestling with her phone, a mouse appeared by the door. the girl looked sideways at the pointed nose and furry back of the thing and turned away. pull yourself together!—the rodent shrieked. the girl leapt upright to get the broom, though the mouse had disappeared by a crack to the hallway. furious, the girl opened the door and ran into the corridor, brush in hand and hair on end, searching for the four-legged intruder. the hunt is a slippery, dangerous thing.
dear Ganesha, she’d say, I realize my error.
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