By Jhelum Mukherjee
I invite my pain to tea.
I ask after her day–
She sticks out her pinkie
And takes a sip.
The evening light
Blurs her edges
And bathes her in gold.
I think,
Maybe I could love her.
She mutters under her breath
And elbows me in her sleep.
I close my eyes
And pray
That the world doesn't
See her softness.
I am her little pet.
Her laugh tinkles
Over my skin in shivers.
I dare not breathe
To break the smile
That hides her teeth.
I fear
That the neighbours
might hear–
Her anger
That smashes dishes in the kitchen.
I close the blinds
To kill the gossip
Of her slurs and fists.
She adores me, you see.
That's why
She hurts me so.
My pain
Fears losing me
To the shadows.
So she
clings to me tight.
Wrapping me in her
Like a mother
Bundling her child for the winter.
She dabs me in kohl
To ward off the evil eye.
Nothing binds me like my Pain.
Loud and quiet
Sharp and soft
All encompassing.
She loves me to death.