My father speaks in a dismantled language that goes up in smoke.
the bullet hole/ in my brother's chest/ unfolds like a pandora's box
justice—where is justice?
Where voices unite, a chorus strong, / Demanding justice, righting wrong
The Notorious Loverboy, Slum Boy and Millionaire’s Daughter, My Bride or My Mother, My Mother’s Body in a Wedding Saree,
I feel my rage, ma, a living thing;/ A beast, caged, like me
You must have heard the story of your birth a thousand times by now, sweetheart. Your mother and I—home alone.
What I wish I didn’t know is that when your dear friends whisper the word “psycho” behind your back, you’ll grow up accepting it.
Skin sticky with perspiration from a long month of June
the bullet hole/ in my brother's chest/ unfolds like a pandora's box
My father speaks in a dismantled language that goes up in smoke.
justice—where is justice?
Where voices unite, a chorus strong, / Demanding justice, righting wrong
The Notorious Loverboy, Slum Boy and Millionaire’s Daughter, My Bride or My Mother, My Mother’s Body in a Wedding Saree,
I feel my rage, ma, a living thing;/ A beast, caged, like me
Skin sticky with perspiration from a long month of June
What I wish I didn’t know is that when your dear friends whisper the word “psycho” behind your back, you’ll grow up accepting it.
You must have heard the story of your birth a thousand times by now, sweetheart. Your mother and I—home alone.
All that I’d despicably known / Things I wish I didn’t know–