Sohini Mukherjee
As the sun set by the Susquehanna riverwalk,
the sky took a shade of orange, lively
yet soul-soothing. The hills, newly clad
in emerald, ripple like the sun rays
on my caramel skin, whistling as I walk.
The river’s wind pushes into my brown hair, sends me
into a labyrinth of my fondest memories. One night,
a sweet friend took me to the riverwalk.
I heard the flowing water, saw the stars
illuminate the night. I spent those summer days
laughing with my friends and cracking the jokes.
We watched ducks cross the river, fish swim next to us,
and birds flying past. Paper airplanes fly above us,
our hearts would long to board one, to go home.
In the darkness, I swore the riverwalk
was a confluence of the Indian rivers
Alakananda and Mandakini.
In a moment, my childhood days;
I longed to hold my maa and baba’s hand again.
The little neighborhood lights from the hills reminded
me of home where the village women, up in the hills,
would light oil lamps in the evening to perform their
evening prayers and illuminate their little shanties.
Intimidated to go on a walk by myself, once I
learned that I am enough, how beautiful
of a mind I have, my riverwalk strolls became
the happiest instances of self-care. There is no fear
of being judged or labeled at the riverwalk.
The river accepts me for who I am and here I go,
whistling my tune, being my authentic self.
The Tributary 