Plumeria in the Cemetery

NOTES FROM KOLKATA
2017

We often strolled through the cemetery. Here it was quiet, tucked away from the crowds, and filled with wildness and age. Impressive tombs gilded in moss formed a maze decorated with tropical trees and flowers. We spent our last hours together walking here, mingling with beauty and death.

I collected a fallen bloom of plumeria from the ground. I drank its perfume, eyes pressing closed with heightened senses. I rubbed the blossom onto my wrists and neck, collecting the loneliest and loveliest bloom to carry with me until it wilted away. I left it at the base of banyan, enshrined in a purplish hue that puzzled me (most banyans are painted red). The day was nearly over and blue shadows fought to overtake remnants of turmeric sunlight which danced through swaying branches upon a stone wall.