Poetry Front Page

Breasts

My niece
Came to me one day
Picked up a pickle
Off the sunny side of the day
Climbed up to my lap
To press my breasts
Her eyes like almonds
Enquired about the strange softness
I held her dimpled hands
And thought about how
The clock will smoothen
The dimple off that bow
And blood would flow
From where there were no wounds
But blood will flow
And blood will leave
A trail of womanhood
Sprinkled like autumn leaves
And some will be breasts
Some heartbreaks
Some euphoria
Some time’s shade
But when she feels her hands
Upon her chest
Away from her heart
How I’ll be away
Not seeing one life mature
In the wake of one to degrade


Thanks for reading! If you enjoy Raising Mothers, please consider making a one-time or recurring contribution to help us remain ad-free. If even a fraction of subscribers signed up to contribute $1 per month, Raising Mothers could be self-sustaining!

Support Raising Mothers

Filed under: Poetry Front Page

by

Vasundhara is a writer based out of New Delhi, India. Her words have been published in The Anthology of Indian Poetry Society, Indians4SocialChange, Wine Cellar Press and beyond. She is absolutely passionate about women's issues, rains and teas and can currently be found building things at The Indian Feminist Review.