(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.

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