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Chasing Rooftops

Artwork by Aakanksha Shankar

If I could unspool the thread of our story from the wind that blows through my hair
I might wrap us around my fingers
Like I do with the stems of the flowers
you’ve ripped for me.
I might spill us like ink across eggshell parchment,
And then name it Chasing Rooftops.

I’d etch us into the neon of NO TRESPASSING signs,
Into the reflection of where we shouldn’t be
Yet still are.

Yet the words between our pressed palms are not just the tiles beneath the stars,
But the blues of the Mediterranean,
The understanding of stolen glances,
My lifted skirt as you twirl me beneath your arm, on the smooth spine of a street at night.

Maybe if I’d listened to the stars that night,
When you were chasing rooftops alone,
I would have taken your hands and your lips as my own
And not sat as still as the crowds we now dance through.

We chase rooftops like we chase sweet silent moments,
Like we speak through stolen glances,
Like we dance in a still crowd.

—

Margherita Bassi is studying creative writing, history, and French in her final year at Boston College. She is an aspiring fiction novelist but is also passionate about poetry. Her favorite book at the moment (it changes on a monthly basis) is Le Cose che nessuno sa by Allesandre D’Avenia. Margherita is a big fan of Shakespeare jokes, coffee with lots of cream and sugar, horses, and working on a big desk next to clean windows with lots of sunlight.

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