motherland
sarmista das
My breasts abound with milk I am
bountiful, my hips swollen with the heat of summer
eyes flush and gait straight I walk
fluid in the motion of my veins
The blood beats quick around my belly I swell
with the fullness of motherhood, twice blessed.
That night two bodies crawled into me, one with a pain that was
deafening, the other slow and silent, it took me more than two months to notice
the scars growing beneath my flesh.
That night I practiced the art of chameleon
my shades as fickle as autumnal leaves.
That night, I lay, sprawled, spread like
compote on dry toast, one leg here and one in the
air,
my eyelids shut tight as if hoarding a secret,
my conscience sprawled in the
backseat of some crummy lemon.
My throat parched my tears evaporated as dry lips and chapped hands scraped my peach fuzz body
not yet ripe enough to eat. But I was
devoured, I left with tooth marks all over my body, tooth marks the size of footprints
I left as a map, a travelogue, a savage terrain, the mysteries long discovered,
civilized, tamed, and uncovered.
I left transformed into a holiday destination,
my bloodstains that decorated the faux leather seats
flaunted as trinkets, cheap souvenirs.
That night, two bodies crawled into me
crawled into my eyes, clawed behind my eyelids, carved and
carved their histories into my vision, embalmed me in their memories
For months I lay frozen and entombed
paralyzed in the winter of my wounds
my womb whittled into a weapon, its war cry the
icy scratch scratch of stale skin against skin
of a body broken, bruised and battered
the skin of a spirit smashed and shattered,
welts grew in me, contusions and eruptions clung to my skin like
climbing ivy but I thought
this land is spoilt. I thought this soil has been plowed, this earth has been tilled
I thought Nothing will grow here, nothing can grow here but
shady vacation spots and gaping scars left by tourist signs.
That night was a night that lived with me for six months. But I awoke one morning
covered in the dew of warmth so thick, my tongue was full with the taste of sunlight.
That same morning I thawed out of my tomb, crawled and clawed out of my bedroom
And looked in the mirror but saw not my self, but two selves enveloped in one
layer of skin, laced with pearls of sweat I thought
this belly is brimming with the roots of something beautiful I thought
these breasts are brimming with the milk of a thousand babes and that same morning, I vowed
I will walk, I will walk, I will walk all over this map and uproot the tourist signs and the souvenir shops,
I will walk all over this land and water the earth and plant seeds in the pocks that have marked me,
I will walk with a spring in every step and let the sun envelop me in its sweetness, I will let rain douse and drench and fill the river of my veins. This land is mine, and now
my breasts abound with milk I am
bountiful, my hips swollen with the heat of summer
eyes flush and gait straight I walk
fluid in the motion of my veins
The blood beats quick around my belly I swell
with the fullness of motherhood, twice blessed.
about the author
Sarmista Das identifies herself as a “postcolonial feminist.” Fluent in English, Bengali and French, she is currently working towards her MA in Literature at McMaster University in Montreal, Canada.
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