Prisha Anne Mehta
  • Home
  • About
  • Publications
  • Awards
  • Artwork
  • Contact
  • PRESS
  • Home
  • About
  • Publications
  • Awards
  • Artwork
  • Contact
  • PRESS


“I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word.
Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.
”


​- Emily Dickinson

Excerpt from Untitled(2017)

11/11/2018

 
​I wake up, hours later, to the dawn bleeding through my eyelids. The aching sun drags its fingers over the horizon, unraveling spools of crimson into the sky. It warms the gravel beneath me, but makes no move against the bitter chill in the air. Somewhere down the road, a lone engine sputters, wheels kicking up dust.
No one is watching me; no one is even awake. All the same, I keep up the pretense of nonchalance as I glance down at my watch. The face is cracked, almost shattered; it must’ve happened last night.
Grabbing hold of the railing, I pull myself up. The gravel has left a deep pink imprint in the right side of my palm. Absently, I rub it against my sweater. The pink imprint hasn’t disappeared; if anything, it’s gotten deeper. 

    Author

    I'm a 19 year old college student in New Haven, Connecticut.

    Archives

    March 2021
    February 2021
    January 2021
    December 2020
    November 2020
    October 2020
    September 2020
    July 2020
    June 2020
    May 2020
    April 2020
    March 2020
    February 2020
    January 2020
    December 2019
    November 2019
    October 2019
    September 2019
    July 2019
    June 2019
    May 2019
    April 2019
    March 2019
    February 2019
    January 2019
    December 2018
    November 2018
    October 2018
    September 2018
    August 2018
    July 2018
    May 2018
    April 2018
    March 2018

    Categories

    All

    RSS Feed

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.