I THINK OF HER, WHEN I THINK OF HOME
One careful step after another
Leaving a series of faint wet footmarks
With each passing moment,
The pattern seems to fade
She looks to both sides
As if walking through busy crossroads
Her fragile limbs clothed in a simple cotton sari
A giggle escapes her as she eyes me
I tear my gaze from the half-eaten mango
To shyly recall, what a sight I must be
A trail of thick yellow drop working its way
Towards my newly washed kurti
Panic struck, I abandon the converted fruit
Traced the leading ripeness
In foolishness, marked myself an offender
Twice in two days. I gaped at the stain and wailed.
Grandma paused, I pleaded and she gave way
Into a fresh cotton dress, I slipped
Hurriedly passing, the soiled artifact
Still fresh from the bath, she bloomed as a happy rose
Moved slowly, towards the solitary tube well
Toiled hard. Tiny drops of perspiration
Timely appeared on her silver brow
Gold-rimmed frame sliding mischievously
Over the nasal ridge, she glides it home
Then examines my stained fate
Assured, she smiles at her labor and me
I thank her and then Almighty
She laughs and tells me to run along,
To attend the one, I had forsaken
I kissed her softly and took to heels.
Anisha Kaul is a poet with a Master’s in English Literature, presently living in New Delhi, India. She is a contributor to the Fevers of the Mind Wolf Pack and her work is forthcoming in Cardigan Press and Ethel Zine. Anisha has also qualified the National Eligibility Test (NET) for Assistant Professorship conducted in India. She loves to write about herself in the third person. Find her on twitter: @anishakaul9. Website: https://anishakaul9.wixsite.com/poet
