i wail that my ama still cries over her beat husband
I weep over my ammama counting her days even though I know brown women never die, I don’t know how she dosent know this
I cry over days spilt over the course of hot dahl and weak chai
my ama coming home to only wish she never had and my fathers absence growing larger by the day
I mourn the women in my family that hated their bellies, the women who hated their husbands, the women who hated themselves
women in my line are stronger than a bull fighting its way out of a paddock
women in my line understand pain, they understand it in order to wield the sword that will end it
my women want to scream down the street in green saris
my women want to hide their children
my women want to kill their husbands
Niki is a high school student currently living in Melbourne. She has published works in Cordite Poetry Review. She is an emerging writer and is working across a range of short form genres. She enjoys writing about feminism, antiracism, sexuality and culture.