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 

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