Dirty dishes…

Dirty dishes

broken tea cups

festering laundry

a husband’s barbs

an untimely death

the rituals in its wake

pooja fasting

a son’s neglect

a daughter helpless

abandoned, dreamless

mother worries

that she worries too much

but I see her

when she calls no one

yet cries

over the phone

in irregular sobs

and tears worth

the last thirty years

she spent for the

men in her lives

the ones that tell her

that she is a creature

of a forgotten time

irrelevant and foolish

for this world.

 

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