Dilation—Day Twenty-Eight of NaPoWriMo 2022

Arguments with my father 

involve a considerable amount

of door slamming

we share more doors

between us than words.

Only the burgundy whispers

of the walls pulsate through

the noxious silence draped

over this house.

Arguments with my mother

involve a considerable amount

of breaking things

everything broken in me

can be traced back to her.

My mother and my father sleep

in different beds, in different rooms

with a soundless marriage 

cuffing them to the bedposts.

Every night, we come together

for dinner on our mahogany table

we never talk to or about each other

we talk over each other

our conversation floats 

above us like a Halo. 

This house is expanding 

as the space between us 

is increasing.

There are too many

chairs, tables, 

cupboards, beds 

separating us 

we are filling the distance

between us with furniture.

Twenty years of quietude

and oatmeals for breakfast

a testament that they

can’t love me but 

they can feed me and

that is enough debt 

for me to repay.

We share too much blood

to hate each other and

share too much silence

to love each other.

Written by Anushka Das for MTTN

Artwork by Brian Rea for New York Times