SHE
An ode to people of any gender who have ever been the primary lookers-after of a family while holding on to a job. First written with a very special cohort from the Ochre Sky writing community.
She is standing at the centre of the universe. She is holding a baby in her left arm. She is an island in a sea of things. People. Animals. Books. Brooms. Computers. Baby clothes. Razors. Toys. Cars. Cakes. Chocolates. Pens. Medicines. Files. Folders. Money. Boxes. Spices. Knives. Woks. Sweatshirts. Pressure-cookers. Brochures. Magazines. Shoes. Makeup.
When she snaps the fingers of her right hand, it is magic. With one snap of her fingers, she can call anything in the sea of things to come to her. She can type on the computer with one hand while doing the laundry. She can turn the pages of a book with her breath. She can drive a car while brushing her teeth. She can bake cakes in the rice-cooker and cook rice in the oven. She can cure fevers with a kiss and whisper to cats. She can ask the rain to stop. She can ask the birds to sing. She can paint a rainbow in the sky. She can fly, fly, fly.
But someone is knocking at the door. She cannot answer the door because she is dancing in the dark. Dancing a happy dance under a deep-blue sky. The knocking gets louder. But now she is a tribal woman dancing with her friends in the moonlight. With feathers in their hair. They ululate together to the heavens and their feet keep time with the drumbeats. Near their bare feet, a snake slithers away and hides in the bushes, waiting for the dancing to stop. Then a large teddy bear is hugging her, telling her that she can sleep for as long as she wants. And then she is sailing down a river in a little boat. But now the knocking is in her head, and she has to dive into the water and swim to the shore. When she opens the door, she wakes up.
Her baby is crying next to her. She must get up and boil the milk. She is feverish and her head is aching. Her arms feel like they do not belong to her. Her legs are as heavy as lead. But her baby is crying louder and louder. She must get up and boil the milk.
I have cared and I have watched, I have cleaned and I have washed, And I have gone to the office in between. I have cooked and I have nurtured, I have listened and I have hollered, And I have gone to the office in between. I have hoped and I have cried, I have lost when I have tried, And I have gone to the office in between. I have helped and motivated, I have waited and supported, And I have gone to the office in between. I have soothed and comforted, I have scolded and mediated, And I have gone to the office in between. I have worried and I have fretted, I have nursed and I have sweated, And I have gone to the office in between. I have shielded and protected, I have moulded and created, And I have gone to the office in between.
Wonderful Alaknanda ♥️ Superb!'And I have gone to the office in between'my favourite line.
“Her baby is crying next to her. She must get up and boil the milk. She is feverish and her head is aching. Her arms feel like they do not belong to her. Her legs are as heavy as lead. But her baby is crying louder and louder. She must get up and boil the milk.”
The must in the last line! And a great poem at the end , Alaknanda.