by Urvashi Bahuguna

And then there was that frigid day in spring
we visited the seaside, cormorants speckling  

the rock face, ice plant blooming a brilliant 
pink as we headed up a hill to a vantage point  

where we would point wildly in the distance 
and claim, there lies Hawaii.  

Wind swinging fists at the walkers the whole way 
while the gulls watched, unmoved by the tide.  

A laminated guide to the Coastal Birds of California 
tucked snugly in my back pocket flew out  

long before I knew it was gone. I patted my pocket 
over & over as if I could will it back through force  

alone. In wind like this, he said, impatiently, it’s long gone. 
Even before he had finished speaking,  

he began to trek back down the path,  
back and back towards the trailhead, till he was  

too far to call out to, and I saw a woman, bundled  
and accompanied by her husband, give  

something to him. I walked briskly, half ran, 
to meet him, and took the guide from his certain hands.

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Urvashi Bahuguna is an Indian poet and essayist. Her work has been recognized by a Tin House scholarship, fellowships from Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, Atlantic Center for the Arts, Charles Wallace India Trust, and Sangam House, an Eclectica Spotlight Author Prize, and a TOTO Award for Creative Writing. She is the author of Terrarium (The (Great) Indian Poetry Collective, 2019) and No Straight Thing Was Ever Made (Penguin India, 2021). Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Passages North, The Adroit Journal, Wildness, The Shore, Orion, Eclectica, Mud Season Review, UCity Review, The Penguin Book of Indian Poets, and elsewhere. She has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of The Net.