daayan, feet facing forward

peppers & lemon rinds sway in doorways

though i was bred just over their thresholds

& my hair isn’t kept in a braid. kids hunch

behind the bins, stare as i walk by. i know

what they’re thinking : witch, man-eater, lonely

hag. my husband in ashes, my home next

to burn. all this doubling. it’s no wonder

the villagers think of signs, lust after my land

as though it’s anybody’s to take. as though

when they slit the last girl’s throat in the woods,

i simply sat by, not feeling a thing, not flinching

awake every night thereafter—even now. let me

for flesh. what would i want with these men

anyway? there’s too much else out here

to love : the air smells bright, & shells of pepper

twirl with abandon. they can’t tell me i’m not

beautiful, smiling up at the deep maroon

skins—the ones meant to ward me off. already

they’re saying it : she’s killed her own kind. bhaiyas,

am i not your own making, your own undoing?

the breeze warms. my sky smells alive. i’m ready.