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The Teddy That Sits On My Bed

The stuffings leak at places,

From the teddy

that sits on my bed,

I wonder how it still smiles.

Prepped up each day against the wall,

As if whole, unharmed,

It smiles, in need of repairs.

It’s been a long time

(I dunno how long)

That I had a talk with myself.

(those heart to heart ones)But,

The chidings have been a daily affair.

I prep myself up each day, without mirrors.

It is hard to look into those eyes,

(And the million questions they ask.)

So I pretend deaf, rush past each time,

Taking care not to disturb the hearth rug,

And the layers of dust on its face.

The voice still shouts sometimes,

(ears bleeding, nerves rebel) But I,

I turn the volume on, tiptoe back

To my room with lights red, dimmed.

And work till I drop dead,

(Ha! I escaped once again).

Once in a while,

I do make love to a body,

(I don’t look into their face,)

And tell myself once more,

With a kissed mouth full of distaste,

That’s what love is,

(and that’s what it demands)

And fall into oblivion again.

I dread the time,

When the curtains will be pulled,

The rug shaken,

The teddy losing its face

(And maybe a mirror in place.)

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Written by Pallavi Suri

Meet My Mother

December in India