(by Sadia Sheeraz and illustrated by Vaneeza Jawad)
Mother Wounds
These mother wounds mark my body
No scars on my womb, or my hips.
The signs of carrying belong to
somebody else. Somebody with age on
their side, the years to build the
strength.
I had no such warning.
A decade of life was permitted.
A patchy decade, torn apart by forces
beyond us all.
A decade was enough, they decided,
And then the burning hot torch would
be
placed into my small soft hands.
The flames would lick my face.
She will get used to it,
eventually.
