Nail Polish by Bhavika Sachan (21, India)

I smell acetone in the air 

My mom has been on the phone for a while.
My Grandma's ill. I miss her. 
I attend my least favourite class online 
because my professor looks like her. ​

She is no longer on call. 
It's;s taking all she has, to not cry.
So, she is instead switching from mauve to blue. 
I know I don't want to be my mom. 
But I too haven't cried in months. 

I understand her. 
How do you mourn the loss of an inheritance 
no will can encapsulate
Does death make you forget all hurt? 

I once again look at my screen 
This time to check a list
of MScs and PhDs to decide
which of them is going to save my life.

I am picking at breadcrumbs
from French toast I haven't had 
since I was six. 
I am smiling at the smell of shiulis 
I picked with my grandma years ago. 
I am looking at a very old folder on my laptop
with a sense of loss in sepia — 
an old photograph of my grandma and a baby 
grinning in her arms. 

I don't have nails long enough to paint,
nor will strong enough to carry on my own. 
I think I am going to lose my grandma
when there is already a longing in my heart
What does death do to it? 
Who knows? 
Maybe, I'll finally cry.