by Anisha Drall
I found a pile of shells in the
playground discarded neatly.
The children gave the
monument distance, as if
to collect it would be a disgrace.
It remained for days, until
a dog knocked it
over, and then it stayed
rubble for a week,
until I returned and there
it was—resurrected. In front
of it, a pile of pebbles.
Offerings from the most
honest lovers, as if to say
nobody wants you,
but here you are.
Anisha Drall is from Gurgaon, India, but currently lives in Singapore, where she graduated from Yale-NUS College. Her work has previously appeared in Economic & Political Weekly, Ghost City Press, and Vagabond City Lit, among others. You can find her on Instagram (@anishadrall) or X (@anisha_drall).