No. 19 Poems for International Women’s Day

 Keeping kitchen

Karishma pushed the stray hair from her forehead

Some white flour puffed by her nose

And she looked through the window.

 

It wasn’t easy

By the age of eight my girls could do everything in the kitchen

They could chop coriander so small

like a machine

Nothing was wasted.

They learnt to freeze dough ready for next night’s dinner.

Lemons they squeezed by hand

Their grandmother helped them roll perfect circles

like medallions

better than Patak.

They were eight.

PB has a machine for everything now

and an au pair

and Paracetamol for constant headaches.

Deep has overstuffed her useless husband

He takes her nowhere

She collects dolls. Dolls we never needed before.

Myself, my kitchen is so clean I can’t create.

 

She turned to roll the dough

and spritz the oil

and clean the top

A tear sizzled in the heated pan.

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