My Pollution

Let the sun set, a yellow, tangy Parle Mango Bite that rejects
the romance of a covering, and burnishes my skin to an open bronze in Delhi.

Like the dancing statue of Natraj, I contort myself to expand, and stretch my lungs.
Like the tough, sinewed roots of the Banyan, I expose myself to abandon.
There is a cigarette box in my hand, I turn it upwards and match the
color of the box to the dimming sky, now leeched of all gold, a pale oncoming navy.

No one taught me how to smoke. I take my first drag, and exhale without a cough.

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Pragya Dhiman is an Indian writer. Her work has previously been published in The Chakkar, Muse India, Defunkt Magazine, Tint Journal, Literary Yard, Le Culturae Magazine, Muse-Pie Press’ Shot Glass Journal, and others. She was longlisted for the Wingword Poetry Prize 2023 and 2024. Her research has been published in various journals and is available online.