Vol 12, Num 16 :: 2013.09.06 — 2013.09.19
We are a family of three,
actually five,
but there are ten people at home.
L likes answering the door,
chats with whoever is calling.
When R and E come in
(R cleans my house, E tends my garden)
L makes tea for them.
While vegetables get cooked
they sit in the kitchen and sip tea.
L talks about her son,
rants about her husband
who left her for another woman.
R talks about her marriage
when she was only ten
her husband thirty never took the child bride home.
Suddenly their voices drop,
there is something private they exchange,
I know they’re sharing a joke about D.
D drives me to work,
he does more than that —
he buys vegetables, grocery,
drops checks in the bank.
He is single, dashing
with hair in spikes, captions on T-shirt
that all of us can read
and he can’t,
tattoo of heart on his biceps.
L flirts with him, he flirts with her
but will never think of taking her for wife.
He wants a brand new girl,
his whole village is hunting one for him.
Spine arches, and my chest opens,
flutters like pages in a book,
drops, picks out voices in the kitchen.
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