Lament Today, I raise my hands up to the faces on my wall And as I trace the figures of those who have it all I realize they’re everything that I would want to be Yet the only thing I see Among the Kendricks, Poehlers, and the Streeps
I have few vivid memories of my biological father. I remember strong arms carrying me to bed. I remember his voice. I remember playing chess together. I stare at the chessboard, while my fingers clutch my knight. Advancing it into position, I check for traps. As I slowly release my grip, he interrupts.
“The women of Katakhali are so confident and resilient. They are truly inspiring. We have a lot to learn from the people of this remote village.”
Standing in front of the pantry’s double doors, Shanti counts the number of fights on her fingers. She disregards arguments (last night’s: the corruption surrounding the Common Wealth Games) and disagreements (the most recent one regarding new tiles for the bathroom). These normal and petty, like change lining the bottom of her purse.
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