Thursday, March 12, 2015

My grandmother is a vendor
Like her friend next door whose
Friend next door is also a vendor
My grandmother does not sell
My grandmother sells jars
with ghosts
faces without eyeballs
a cold gust of air
Her maid tells us she wants to die
but the sheikh said she wont die
Until she sells her jars
Neighbours are intrigued
Say that this ghost looks like
Fulano this and fulano that
But they never buy
My grandmother’s jars
Her maid says that you can’t sell
Your own ghosts anyway
Says she wishes grandmother
Could get rid of them some other way
Her maid says that you should
Never agree to hold someone’s ghost
Not even for a minute
Because nobody is ever going to take a ghost back

-on rickshaws tumbling with history

No comments:

Post a Comment