
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.