Scar

By Smitha Sehgal

​The first week mother comes to stay
a mocking laugh escapes
her mouth, hearing my husband eats
fruit for dinner, the continuation
of a childhood routine. I explain
how it has been for the men in 
their household to bring up the child,
stand in for an absent mother,
substitute fruit for a full-cooked
meal, it must be like seahorses
bringing up their babies. Diode. I give up
in the futility of it all.
Long ago she split me into neat halves
flinging a sharp disc
across the room. Some mornings I lie
on her bed. All day I loathe her sickly
sweet smell clinging to my body.
In the bath, I scrub and soap
her from my existence,
her moonshine. Such perfection,
once my love ran a finger
on my lip, I emerged smiling
from a black hole, as though
I am the moon.

---

Once there was a woman

By Smitha Sehgal

​She chewed into the island
as the sea churned and the sky roiled.
She chewed the grief quivering in her bones.
She chewed the sediments of rain
washing over unknown languages. She chewed
the riverine routes that sailed into the land of seahorses.
She chewed the sounds that lay scattered
in the wisdom of crows. She chewed the timbre of waterfalls
that leaped into the night. She chewed the sun
waiting for her wings to grow back.
She twitched her feet. How long is long?

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​Smitha Sehgal is a legal professional and the author of the book of poetry How Women Become Poems in Malabar. A Best of the Net nominee, her poems have been featured by Ink Sweat & Tears, Osiris Poetry, The Indianapolis Review, Marrow Magazine and elsewhere.