I’m beginning to think of the body as a chasm

To prove my love, I let you bury me in the field beyond the house. Close your eyes, you said, but I couldn’t. I still see your face looming over me as I lay in the ground at your feet, remember your shirtless back, your hands like points of light. You used the shovel Aunt Helen gave you, with the blue handle, poured dirt on my body one slow small clump at a time. The earth was wet from rain. You spread it evenly over my belly, neck, lips, weighed down my eyelids with it. I understood tenderness, then.

Shivani Mehta