My Mother Said No More
BY KASHAF GHUMMAN.
Gray is a strange color for skin
Her melanocytes had probably given up
There was no point in keeping up appearances when she didn’t want to
It is strange to see my weight hanging from her right eye
My brother’s weight from her left eye
And the weight of her marriage/youth/dusted dedication/decimated desires/too many more deaths
Hanging from her neck
I’m afraid to touch her
I’m afraid she’ll use my own hands to cuff her neck
I’m afraid she’ll beg me to understand and I will
I’m afraid she’ll say it. She did.
Kashaf Ghumman is a medical student from Pakistan, trying to learn the rhythms of the medical field while studying the anatomy of poetry. She has previously been published in the Shot Glass Journal by Muse Pie Press.