zaumxs
placeholder: "about" paragraph
placeholder: "about" paragraph
The world ends at the kitchen table.
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We sit there- me and my dad,
And my brother when he is home from the States.
/
It’s just the two of us tonight,
And her
Always there
Like the house’s spirit.
/
She is making hot rotis-crafting them as
Perfect circles of flat bread, unleavened
Yet rising out of some magic
With a black burnt spot or two here and there-
Crisp, with a dollop of sweet butter at its centre
Seductively floating to its circumference
Like an iceberg melting into an ocean.
/
We dine together- all of us
Except her, of course.
She eats later- cold rotis
And other stuff passed off as leftovers.
/
My dad- seated across me,
Is texting away to someone
Or maybe reading gossip about Him-
The one who’s given him and many like him a job;
I wonder why he didn’t have one here for my brother
Who’s probably having his breakfast cereal
With low-fat milk in a bowl kept beside a screen
Reflecting white, lurid light-hypnotic like a
Snake charmer’s whispers to his serpent slave
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In a foreign land
/
We are all invisible to each other
/
And what am I doing?
I am writing this on the kitchen table- why?
Because a few days ago
I had bit my tongue
And just now I bit it again
At the same spot
When trying to speak while chewing my cud.
I felt like telling you about it-
I don’t know why.