about butterfly wings--
how they can stare at you
& fly at the same
time. This bathtub,
a death bed;
my back and my feet frozen
like cold sausages.
the scourge of biblical wasps
so I lied to people about my fear
being irrational. And it fit—a miserable
eight year old prone to exaggeration.
The sure-fire drone of wicked and my
tongue felt like a desiccated coconut.
That afternoon, we were all huddled up, watching
war movies when one of them flew right into my
mother’s face like a tiny, horrifying death jet
shooting at the unassuming, Calcutta summer sky.
Not a sound left her mouth when she almost grabbed
it, with the keenness of a dog mesmerised by snowflakes
and I watched in horror, not knowing who scared me more.