February 2026
Sisyphus reflects on his relationship with his boulder
Poetry by Anisha TandonYes, my boulder, who else could it belong to?
The hard heart of it is my familiar,
my habit of it like coffee each morning.
I have been made by it. It created my palm,
like daughters create mothers,
a birth so absolute that I have become the
fist that defends it. I have grown to admire
the strength of it, the smooth of it.
Love is sometimes a feeling,
but mostly a choice. One grows around it,
like home outside a body. I have no home anymore,
but I know the way. To keep it interesting,
I change the path sometimes.
I like to navigate the give of the earth,
avoid the flitting insects. I like the way my
biceps got bigger in the beginning,
swelling like an assembled army called to their king.
Summers are my favorite. It is hot, yes, but clotted with
birds. A thing with feathers that I can see
out of the corner of my eye. Nights dark, like
black paint bleeding through a page, but sometimes
stars give way to a shower, stars being birthed from stars.
Split, as in doubled not halved, body from a body.
What else can I tell you? I have no answers,
better, no questions at all. When I ascend,
I make a mad dash towards the bottom,
wind in my hair. I’m loyal.
I do it again, the work of it.
That’s where the work is.
Anisha Tandon is a poet born in Bombay and based in NYC. You can find her at https://www.anishatandon.com.