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Rain On A Strange Roof

By Lagnajita Mukhopadhyay

It does not rain anywhere like it does in Kolkata. It sounds like Bengali conversations over evening tea in living rooms, like speaking and not talking, like language. It looks like solid beams, security, like a place so strong, you never want to leave.

It even feels like blessing, a natural cleanse, a resurgence, like a liquid gold growth communion—this rain sounding like old, wise voices. It draws family onto warm beds and candlelight, the downpour drowning out the sound of the grandfather clock pendulum swinging back and forth. On days like these, heavy lidded with jet lag and carrying broken conversation, we sit together and listen to the weather outside our glass cage windows.

Thankfully, it never really gets hot in Kolkata in December. But it still feels different than Nashville somehow. The rain here is fluid like it might melt into something other than water. Like once it hits the ground, it might sizzle. Here, rain calls us until we open doors and windows leaving tile slippery, dangerous, inviting. Here, rain is a long-term relationship on the first night—it wants us to get wet.

 

     

About the Author

Lagnajita Mukhopadhyay was one of five finalists for America's National Youth Poet Laureate, for which she was recently invited to the White House to meet Michelle Obama. She was also named as Southeast Regional Youth Poet Laureate in 2016. In addition to her book, this is our war, Mukhopadhyay has published poetry and creative nonfiction in Nashville Arts Magazine, The Tennessean, Chapter 16, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, The Shanghai Literary Review, Atlas and Alice, The Felt, and on the Poetry Society of America website and is forthcoming in Indian Lit. She is currently a junior at Belmont University.

 

 

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