Vaishnavi Mathur, Delhi, 3rd July 2023
Verbal affirmations feel alien on my tongue,
as they do coming from my mother.
Never have I ever heard her utter the words,
“I love you,” “I’m sorry” and “I’m so proud of you”.
Never have I ever sat her down in the hope of confronting her
about ‘that one time’ and about ‘every single time’
about things I wouldn’t have dared to say to her
about words that never make it to the tip of my tongue
aching with a dullness, instead of which I would much rather prefer
the searing pain of actually being able to talk to my mother.
Oh, to yell at her, for her to yell back
with equal rage and equal spite
and when all the yelling is done
to collapse and embrace each other
because the war between a mother and her daughter
would have finally come to an end.
alas, it simply pauses
because “I love you,” “I’m sorry” and “I’m so proud of you”
are served to me
on a platter of freshly cut fruit.
With tears in my eyes
I question the gesture.
As I think back to the angry words we just exchanged,
Ripe fruit begins to taste bitter.
Every piece of it feels heavy on the fork
and I struggle to swallow the silence
even as it suffocates me
You serve me peeled tangerines and cubed mango, and I return to you an empty plate.
It is the only form of reconciliation either of us receive.
