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Ma, I'm Home

By Shriya Mkumar


The combined scent of flowers and ghee made me feel slightly sick. But how could I complain with a room to call home and fresh milk delivered daily. coconut oil seeping through my roots. I miss these roots. Ma, I'm home.


I'm sorry for the missed calls, even the phone seemed afraid to let its ring return to india.


The spicy, masala engulfed meals after millennia of bland, soaked in butter and too-sweet. Curry painting my fingertips and jasmine creeping up the window. It's been too long, yet simply no time has passed.


I missed the arguments between you and the vendors, how you always managed to save 20 rupees. but i don't miss the ones we had. Scorching red and bitter.


Ma, I'm home. It's a sickly feeling, raw honey dripping through my skin, and rosewater painting my eyes.


 

About the author:

Shriya Mkumar (she/her) is a desi poet with a love for brownies, books, and busy days. She is the co-founder of Filter Coffee Zine, her work has been published on various platforms like Gen Control Z, The Teen Tribune, and more.

Some more of her work include Ma I'm Home, Dining Table Silence, and Breathing Flowers and Unblinking eyes, all available soon in Erato, Issue I: Bloom

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