This is where it was leading
to: this quiet sunset sky,
this beech & the bench
underneath. Funny how
you held my hand at the
time of leaving it.
Funny how I let you.
All our favorite restaurants
have discontinued.
So much of the other has died.
The two middle-aged
women staring at you
walking by the same
fishpond I wished to
boat in. The memories
of past years fresh in
our minds—every joke,
every qawwali we listened
together, every cup of chai
you sipped after I put
my finger in it—it makes
it sweet. The same finger you
are tracing with yours now;
a kartographer of our sweet,
innocent transgressions.
If I knew this is how
it will end—I will fly river
beds, cry river beds, to be
here with you—I will.
And from the beginning,
once again, ask:
what do you wish to end
from this world? meaning,
what do you fear most?

Javeria Hasnain is an incoming MFA student at The New School on a Fulbright scholarship. She is a Pakistani poet whose poems can be found in AAWW’s The Margins, Gutter magazine, Superstition Review, and elsewhere. She lurks on twitter @peelijay.