Home— Day Nine of NaPoWriMo

My dad smells of a lavender perfume

which doesn’t belong to my mom.

My mom reeks of menthols

that I’ve been asking her to quit.


Dad’s not staying for the dinner,

“urgent meeting” is his pretext.

She smiles sadly, her eyes so dull,

the door shuts, and silence befalls.


The lady dressed up in red,

my dad’s lips engulf her’s

while my mom’s lips meet

yet another nicotine stick.


Mom wears the pearl necklace,

the one that dad got her

when he asked her out.

She stares at her reflection.


The woman in the mirror,

she is crying indigo tears,

leaving silver trails,

like a silver lining that once was.


A smile falls over my dad’s face

as he slowly undresses the lady.

Bodies entangling beneath the sheets

which smell of roses and love.


My home is now a concrete box

underneath the stars.

The walls have their secrets,

and the people have their pain.


Home hasn’t been home,

since I had a car accident.

My ghost still lurks around,

watching my family fall apart.

—Written by Aakanksha Mantri for MTTN

—Featured Image by  Ankita Shenai


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