February 07, 2013

Not A Cactus

And if you are a woman you learn early, how to draw yourself in, and survive on very little water, in fact, a few drops of dew will do. Careful about smiles pulling them indoors if they happen to escape in the rain like errant children to dance, to soak, aimless paper boats. Wearing a wax-coated thick skin is best, nothing seeps in, no branches, no stems, only a cluster of spiny areoles for leaves, naturally they do not crave the caress of the wind. Like arid, bottled, dried-out water color paints you have forgotten what color feels like on your verdant body. But sometimes when you break all conventions, break open the lid and jump out of your skin, it is shocking how you spill out, defiant in the most unlikely places, even among the thorns like a yellow flower. * First published in the anthology titled Mosaic (Unisun)

About: Minal Sarosh

Minal Sarosh is an awarded Indian English poet. She has published in print and online journals like Muse India, Asia Writes, Danse Macabre, Other Voices International Project, The Brown Critique, Nether and World Haiku Review. She lives in Ahmedabad, India.

1 comment to Not A Cactus

  • Anu Elizabeth Roche

    “Like arid, bottled, dried-out water color paints
    you have forgotten what color feels like
    on your verdant body.”

    Gosh I love how it’s so dry and bare whenever she’s talking about how a woman is supposed to present herself to the world…and then bursts out into this gush of colour and energy in the end. Beautiful.

Leave a Reply

  

  

  

You can use these HTML tags

<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>