Self-Portrait as God of Hope by Nora Gupta

Photo by Jorge Bermudez on Unsplash

With every heaving breath Elpis took, I saw / god’s bet twinkling in her eyes. Her skin was / transparent—I could see each quiver of her pulse, each hiss / of her garden-snake veins—and I don’t know / if this is the perennial of God’s will but Mama told me / god’s angels have swallowed Elpis, leaving her / frostbitten. I still don’t know / what god Mama spoke of, but Papa says / Elpis is dying, he said her flesh would tighten around her bones /as her eyes sank and her legs crumbled. ​​​And I cried / I cried until my eyes rang bloodshot, the innocent glimmer / of Elpis between my matted lashes. Elpis, matted / with tears and a scream prying open my lips. / And slithering out my lips was the gutting sound of a mother losing / her firstborn daughter, of my pupils shrinking / back into my sockets and Elpis’s hands wrinkling my breath / and now when I put my palm in hers, my fingers interlace hers and I see / the prairies she never visited, the daisies and dandelions she braided / around her forearms, each petal falling with a beat of her heart. And underneath her glazed eyes, pink roses / swirling with the black rot as summer parasites blossom, blossom with the pain of a fresh bruise each time / I press it. 

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Nora Gupta is a student poet at the Bronx High School of Science. She is Editor-in-Chief for Double Yolk, a publication featuring poets of color and their creative processes. Nora has received recognition from several organizations, such as the National Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, the National YoungArts Foundation, Princeton University, National Council of Teachers of English, Gannon University and Smith College. You will find Nora’s poetry in the upcoming issues of Notre Dame Review and Sho Poetry Journal.