Things I Should Have Done When I Lived Alone
Slept naked through the night but
fire alarms in the dark and
the potential disaster of
groggy facetime calls
and skin crawling under
a second-hand duvet, and
tummy particularly pouch-like
Not called home a couple of days but
is Muttachan still alive and
are we sure this dal looks right
and look Amma, I can do this I’m
independent now, and broo, how do I
argue this, avoid them, attend that
Had someone over, but as usual there’s
no butterfly belly or sweaty palms
and I’m swiping right into being a
fish out of water, and turns out
I’m better at being a ghost anyway
Picked a direction and walked but
deadline dead ahead and
sunless sky and heatless air
and sometimes solitude
sours.
A Balcony, Calcutta
It is the 1960s and Achan is a little boy in Calcutta and
Achamma is in the balcony, leaning against the railing.
She sucks on mangoes and flings the fuzzy oval seeds
across their narrow street. In the distance, the thwack of
clothes being beaten clean against stone.
It is the 2000s and I am a little girl in Calcutta and
Achamma is in the balcony, leaning against the railing.
She waves from up above as we unload the luggage,
soaked through in pre-monsoon sweat. In the distance,
rabindrasangeet.
It is the 2010s and I am a young woman in Calcutta and
Achamma has not been at the balcony for years.
Achan stares up at the house, perhaps willing her to appear.
I cross the street and stare up into the leaves of a mango tree.
In the distance, the traffic fades and it is quiet.
Meenakshi is a Malayali from Delhi. She earned her MA in Comparative Literature from SOAS and her poetry has been published by nether Quarterly, VAYAVYA, and Porridge Magazine. Find her @meenusbookcase on Instagram.
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