Weathered

Winter wails on the mane
of the trees, coiled for comfort.
I forget to breathe as well.
Inhale and exhale is more an exercise
that puffs pride into my lungs.

I dive under the weight of the wool
scraped from sheep, myself
not bearing the agony of
being stripped.



One such winter
I made five year plans
which shaped
the melting of windows
on a cold morning.

I saw festivals where
coconut grated with sweat
curdled curries.

I saw a husband who didn't see
my belly bulging,
his germs giving me
sickness.

I saw a girl who ran away
and now lives in a city
that doesn't know her name.



Published in Cadaverine magazine here.