I see the world outside

by Snehal Bhadani

Max Griss

Steel bars crosshatch the sky into trembling cells of light.

Below, the taxicabs glint in emerald so sharp it stings my eyes. The fruit-seller’s cart spills overripe melon: sweet, gangrenous. Little black plums crowd like wet beetles.

The train’s horn guts the air, bellowing the arrival of the traveler.

The elderly shuffle in slow arithmetic. Children dart with expertise, like minnows through the throng. In one hand a newspaper, and in the other, candy traded for loose change.

I tally the trivialities until the day the street peels itself back:

The taxicab’s green rots into the green of a stagnant pond. The children’s laughter coagulates in the gutter. The fruit-seller’s hands shrivel like thin paper.

I wrap my fingers around the bars and remind myself again:

The world outside is flaying itself alive. I am the only clean thing left.

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Snehal Bhadani is an undergraduate student from Singapore whose work explores memory, identity, and the body. She writes poetry and flash fiction, and haikus for her Substack. Her work has previously appeared in Blue Marble Review.