Always
my sister will repeat in anger
what Amma says more subtly:
that I am to blame
for all that goes wrong
in the bedroom.
Everyday, in the bedroom
these are the first words to greet me:
‘So what is it, today?’
Often
they are
the last words, too.
From a thousand shimmering stars
pointing fingers accuse me of whoredom
– once again –
and counsels float into the trembling night.
The child-like sobbing of a cat
unable to feed its litter
seizes me by the entrails.
You too
may have your complaints
but Time and our history
make very clear
where I now stand:
To receive a little love
– however tarnished –
from you
To fulfil my responsibility
as your child’s mother
To buy from the outside world
my sanitary napkins and contraceptives
and for many other little favours
To hold a little authority over you
if possible
To strengthen what authority I have
just a little
In full knowledge of all this
my vagina opens.