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The Cuckoo Calls Me — Poems by Shubhangi Bajpayee


The Cuckoo Calls Me — Poems by Shubhangi Bajpayee

Mother


Sometimes I feel like

My mother is dying

So that I can live

As if the room has limited oxygen

And she is suffocating

So that I can breathe

Forgetting this is easy

But also Cruel

Also Crucial

The burden of her sacrifice

Is Heavy

If Heavier

than my father's hands on her back

And her father-in-law's bedpan

And her mother-in-law's inhaler

And the loud gasps she receives

Every time she steps out of the building

I can't say


But I have learned

To bear

the burden

Being a woman

From her

And her mother

And her sisters

And my sisters

And I pray to God

That I don't teach this to my son

That I don't have a son

Her cleaning up after all of us

Late into the night

Puts me to sleep

The kitchen light

Burns

And I wish

That someday

May my mother be born as my daughter

And I am her mother.


I don't wish to exchange places with her

I wish that space didn't exist

Hatred

Angst

Hunger pangs

Independence

Violence

Are all big words

My mother doesn't understand

But has been struck by


When I am my mother's mother

And she be my daughter

I will let her free

I will not let her turn into a mother.



The Cuckoo Calls Me


The cuckoo calls me

And I walk on

Ignoring

Alarms

To wake up

To speak

When not spoken to


He is not around anymore

And I miss

The fear

He wore as a shirt

I am promoted to the next semester

Further away from him

But he never calls

Or texts

Or cries

I do

And it makes me weak

He trembles

His ownership

Is threatened

The distance helps


He is gone

Settling somewhere else

Hurting someone else

I hope she knows how to write poetry

It makes bleeding look more graceful

I hope the cuckoo calls her too

And she stops to listen.



A Wrong Ride Home


“Do you see any stains at the back?”

My best friend nodded


Shit.


The only time a ‘yes’ hurts more than a ‘no’

I could feel the weight of that stain on my back as if I had a tail

And like a tail

Everyone can see it

What a tale!

I think of ways I can hide it

None of them would work

Thinking of them, hurts

I've forgotten my cramps now

Remembering all the times my mind told me to change

And I ignored

Highway washrooms are disgusting

Well guess what, now I am

I should lower my standards

And pull

my pants up


“Do you have anything to cover?”

I shook my head


“Let it show then,

Would be a good feminist lesson for all of us”


I was holding back my tears

Well, I'm already wet,

might as well go home with him

We surrendered.



Debt


Borrowed liberty

Interest piling up

I face my debt collector every evening sharp at 6 PM

From my dorm room

She smiles at me

says that she misses me

I fear seeing her in person

In her eyes I see

Everything I owe to her

I feel guilty

And so skip

Telling her

About the party I went to

And the magnificent palace I saw

How I debated with my professors

And how I got published

Three times

With words I wrote about her

I do not tell her

Of staying out late at night

And going anywhere I want to

Anytime

Without asking anyone

Without asking her

She has to

Ask

Everyone

All the time

All of this I keep from her

And it keeps me up at nights

I feel weak

By the burden of my empowerment

That came from her

I am her debtor, yet she calls me ‘Daughter’.



 

Shubhangi is a writer, student, and performative storyteller. She is a student of literature and an aspiring human. She loves to read people and weave stories from their experiences.

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