THE SCENT OF DOMESTIC BLISS

By Vishnu Priya P R 

Dismembering the fish on the plate
licking the fingers again and again
He squirmed on the chair,
complaining about the curry
" This gravy... aghh...bland like you" "Useless bitch" Ugly c..."
An expanding thesaurus of adjectives,
like my growing, wiggling belly.

My eyes wandered, as usual
looking for everything and nothing
and there I saw it
on the kitchen floor,
near the waste bin,
A Snail.
Her slippery frame
moving forward
with the shell, her shelter,
Uninviting petrifying touches,
tightening grips
and probing desires.

Chopping the vegetables,
I admired her technique.
The faint memory of a shell,
a husk,
a haven,
a womb.
Just a few pushes more
to the green shades, the backyard,
The pond of pink lilies.
Hopes stirring
Dreams beckoning.

A sudden frenzy

The boots The burning cigarette

A dash of salt
Dhol beats Jasmine garlands

Red bangles
Taste of blood


Suddenly, I remembered that smell. It came from the burnt body
they found in the drain.
The new bride in the neighborhood
the quiet, buck-toothed Asha. She was unrecognizable when they pulled her out. But I knew, She never had a face. .
"What is taking you so long", He shouted from the bedroom
The streetlights began to blur.
I looked at the snail melting away into a map of withered fantasises
Asha peered back at me laughing and teasing.
I walked towards the bedroom I could feel it on me on my breasts, my thighs and my hair The Scent of Domestic Bliss! I reek.