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stench of guava and other poems skip to main skip to sidebar stench of guava and other poems stories about child sexual abuse friday 12 october 2007 bookends here is a pair of bookends belonging to my mother they represent the eternal parentheses she used while in conversation with me how are you getting home the rickshaw driver may rape you are you seeing anyone is someone raping you why do you want to move out why do you drink why do you smoke i know what happened i know what happened i think about it all the time do you too eat drink be merry marry have a child and all the while i can see cloaking and enveloping everything her constant reminder the only thing she sees when she sees her otherwise accomplished child smashed between her un used bookends a bouquet of brackets a permanence of parentheses posted by anoopa anand at 02 55 2 comments round table i have spent my adulthood stereotyping cyclostyle paper in the roller this is the tap tap dance of my monologue the man at the head of my table my father retired hurt from an afternoon of cricket watching coffee drinking the man at the head of my table my father on realising his acute ineptitude at dealing with his daughter s monsters bought a round table the man at a corner of our round table sir arthur and his sleepless nights all beaten fair and square these days the distant rumble of dinnertime begins with disgrace and ends with a benediction made to my father s silent helpless teary eyes posted by anoopa anand at 02 55 no comments stench of guava stench of guava s slimy skin hard outside and soft within the hard and soft of my own kin my blood that trickled down your chin stench of guava s ripened flesh beneath its shade my body threshed within its arms did you enmesh your kin my body small and fresh _____________________________________________ you came to me in dreams with your voice rustling like leaves beneath tiny feet with your hair slick and shining wet like snakes throwing off aging skin with your eyes full of make believe games and anecdotes you came to me in dreams with hands that smelled of guava pulp too used to small and tender flesh with lips too hungry to delay planting smells inside my mouth with teeth biting through playschool logic mocking my tentative baby lisps you came to me in dreams every night and every morning ever since my breath is stale of guavas pale and every morning ever since i recount fiction that slowly dropped like a penny into a pool of fact posted by anoopa anand at 02 54 no comments home subscribe to posts atom about me anoopa anand anoopa anand lives in bangalore india with her parents and four dogs she received her bachelor s degree from mount carmel college bangalore when she isn t writing anoopa likes to read fiction do crosswords in auto rickshaws sing jazz standards in embarrassed whispers and obsess about cricket when she grows up anoopa will write for a living sing for love and find a less commercially successful sport to follow view my complete profile anoopa anand alleged writer and left arm spinster ahem all content on this blog is copyrighted to anoopa anand 2007 any unauthorized reproduction or usage of this matter commercial or otherwise is a violation of international copyright law and liable for prosecution blog archive 2007 3 october 3 bookends round table stench of guava