Fledgling
Saanjana Kapoor
I’m my parents’ apostrophe
arrived at the hospital swaddled in their middle-class dreams
I’m God’s apology
another cog in the system, clogging the white identity
my panoramic ma searches for me
in her day-care children
when I used to sin(g) her name in melismas the syllables bouncing off the walls
and colliding into her now the infant rests his head on her chest like red roses on mahogany caskets
I watch his father argue with ma about the timesheet
his boots staining the tiled floor his son took his first steps on
beta she says that night my sky is a dome
so I take the next deathless death and work
until the moon’s jaw hangs open gaping at my blackened hands at the mandir
my forehead kisses Lakshmi’s feet I promise to bleed to be cast in the American dream
so She gifts me a white cubicle where the men use their silver tongues as a leash
my bilingual mouth is trained never to speak only confess
I’m a brown dot squashed between acres of carpet and ergonomic chairs
inputting numbers filing reports until my paycheque brings home a bride
when a colleague suggests selling brass as gold I remain silent
he holds a knife to my throat as I write my resignation letter
it takes the shape of my parents’ face when they boarded the plane
I remember ma’s billowed sari
the only flag I pledge allegiance to and let him push me off the precipice
arrived at the hospital swaddled in their middle-class dreams
I’m God’s apology
another cog in the system, clogging the white identity
my panoramic ma searches for me
in her day-care children
when I used to sin(g) her name in melismas the syllables bouncing off the walls
and colliding into her now the infant rests his head on her chest like red roses on mahogany caskets
I watch his father argue with ma about the timesheet
his boots staining the tiled floor his son took his first steps on
beta she says that night my sky is a dome
so I take the next deathless death and work
until the moon’s jaw hangs open gaping at my blackened hands at the mandir
my forehead kisses Lakshmi’s feet I promise to bleed to be cast in the American dream
so She gifts me a white cubicle where the men use their silver tongues as a leash
my bilingual mouth is trained never to speak only confess
I’m a brown dot squashed between acres of carpet and ergonomic chairs
inputting numbers filing reports until my paycheque brings home a bride
when a colleague suggests selling brass as gold I remain silent
he holds a knife to my throat as I write my resignation letter
it takes the shape of my parents’ face when they boarded the plane
I remember ma’s billowed sari
the only flag I pledge allegiance to and let him push me off the precipice
Saanjana Kapoor is a Bachelor of Arts student at the University of Melbourne. Her writing has been published or is forthcoming in Voiceworks, Underground Writers, Island, Paper Lanterns, Cordite Poetry Review, and more. She is an artist for the 2021 National Young Writers’ Festival.
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