Suppose I stopped running by Nora Gupta

Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash

for Kate

Suppose I stopped running from the walls of your overly decorated bedroom. Suppose I let your laughter twirl my hair, suppose I let my stomach knot, you lay bedridden blocks away, your heart readying to stop. 

Suppose I stopped running and let the soles of my feet bleed into the road’s endless tar, bordered by the blanket of grass fields. Suppose the silence of summer became too sweet to swallow, the puffs of breath clouding the air like caramel cigar smoke.

Suppose I stopped running and filled your maple-soft hand with mine. Suppose your pulse slowed as mine quickened. Suppose your eyelids, touched by gravity, finally closed.

Suppose I stopped running and October never ended and the orange and brown leaves clung to their branches and my tears clung to my eyes. 

Suppose I sat in the frosted grass and whispered in your ear and stared into your sea-black eyes. Suppose pain blessed my heart and my unfulfilled promises don’t hurt anymore. 

Suppose my words will float off this wrinkled paper and my rhymes will be silk. Suppose you hear me.
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But you don’t. 
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So I keep running. 

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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.