the pressure cooker lid –
an elephant with a trunk –
it has to be kept in check,
it cannot trumpet out of turn.
perfectly balance the rice on top,
and the dal underneath:
you don't want to make a scene.
the counter is clean;
no puddles of anything too hot to touch,
no crumbs, no onion peel.
the cooker is rattling
the fragrance of boiled dal
and the ominous sound of air
attempt to stay concealed under the lid.
perhaps the rice is not perfectly balanced
the whistle collects grievances and
continues to whisper into the empty kitchen you pop out for a pee break and kind of forget to listen
the cooker twitches and shivers,
my chest is tight
pssssss: a warning bell simmers
into the sweltering stovetop night
a sound like a gunshot
there is dal on the ceiling
I think you might have trouble reaching.
About the poet:
Rutvi does poetry cautiously and deliberately. You can follow her on Instagram @gr4vygal