She has preserved those
pencil portraits
and stencil symptoms
a mosaic of saris
dabbed in charcoal clouds
jagged joints and
anaemic asthma,
to memories that
are tinctured tints
all are the blueprints
of the butter burned
on her skin.
She remembers the day
the sun rose
from behind the silken shade
in their bedroom
to the hour she became
a rag doll ranted with ravage
she couldn't say a no
for the practice and the prize
as she removed her relics
from the room.
The sky aged and
the wind chimes walloped
at the window
when he wrote his name
on her agile arm
with crayons chalked
by his canvas.
She saw it all till
she couldn't swallow
her sweat,
today the copper he gave
her has melted
and so has the promise
a scraping with a scissor
and a welted womb
sometimes reminds her
of the times she was
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