Sari
the summer Lakshmi was lost
The Sun in Calcutta blisters with April rage
as women hang their saris on clotheslines
hand-washing them with crumbling detergent
granulous powder so strong, it wipes out entire palm-lines.
Their future slips through eroding hands,
as red stains are scrubbed to the bone
as dishonour plagues our colonized lands
Lakshmi last night never returned home.
Salt would drip down the back of her neck
as men behind curtains watched her hanging clothes,
pleats of shame she’d utter under humid breath
before placing them gently between the sari’s folds.
Her brown face today is all over the news,
but her saris have dried and need to be plucked soon.
About the Creator
mokradi_
Pari (he/they)
A BIPOC settler in Coast Salish Territories of so-called 'Canada'.
On the road to reconciling the worlds within while reclaiming my journey, one story at a time.
#multiculturalstories
#transgenerationalmemories
If You Love Me, You'll Do It
I met Jason when I was five years old. I could say that I loved him from the moment I saw him. He was so handsome to me and I felt in awe by his presence. When they introduced him as the new kid in school, I wanted to be his friend right away. I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember his smile and how he didn't seem shy. He appeared confident and ready to learn. I waved at him and said "hello," before anyone else could even say a word. He sat next to me, and I asked him if he wanted to be friends. He looked so happy as he said, "Yes!"
By Sidney Smith (Sid Smith)6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Gorgeously penned my friend!