2 Poems by Poornima Laxmeshwar
Ajji oiled and combed my hair for hours. She said that combing is kindness as though the small-teethed comb could catch and carry my worries, and not just lice. Call me prejudiced but the C words do not stick like sweat on my skin - choice, consent, calcium. I suffer from deficiencies of my own making. That's how marriages work, you say.