she arrived in a taxi
completely drunk

it was
one of those days
when I worked
at the corner shop
I stood there
fixing an old piece of furniture
and looking at her
in her rumpled state

empty, she echoed
she was a museum
without statues, without murals
nun-hearted and blind to the world
her face, a featureless,
fine Newari linen
but, she smiled
and she was only thirty one

I looked her
like a silkworm
looking at a mulberry leaf

shoring up the middle of her life
I know, she’ll die
at her strongest
yet the most beautiful time.


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