Our lives, unfolding.

i still remember
the excitement you felt
in getting to wear
a crisp shirt
and formal pants to school
for the first damn event
that you got to host.

the teachers finally realise
my potential, you scoff.

you ran home,
flinging your bag
as usual
but today with a purpose
a determined goal
to iron your own
damn clothes.

i’m going to be
in-de-pen-dent, you’ll see.

but it only took
one rebellious wire
poking out of my seams
that just two minutes
and a pang of burn
were enough
for you to swear
never to touch
that damn thing again.

the ones we love hurt us
the most, you theorize.

gritty little child
that you were
still lacking the warmth
the feeling of
enveloped by
the hot air pockets
of freshly pressed fabric
that you ask your father
to do it for you instead.

who needs pride when
there’s vanity involved, anyway?

to watch him
for hours
smoothing out perfectly
the inconsistencies
in your clothes
the unevenness
in your life
was that intimate moment
you could never put
in words.

it was probably the closest
you’d felt to him in years.

i’m still alive
but i’m barely breathing
the cotton roped
around my wires, fraying
at either end
from years of pulling, nearly
off the socket
to reach the farthest end
of the kurta sleeve –
perhaps i’ve spread myself too thin.

but i know for sure
i’ll be gossamer
if it means
spending my last,

tugging at your seams.


‘Our lives, unfolding’
Prompt: “An electrical appliance that you use the most in the house comes to life and writes a poem for you”
I chose an electric iron. I don’t know why, it’s one thing that hasn’t changed reasonably since I remember, and we use it quite a lot (not recently, ofc). I was about to title it ‘This is not an ironic poem’ buut I stopped myself just in time. Maybe I was pressing my luck too much. Ok sorry bye.

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