she sits on a rickety cane chair
in the middle of the open portico
of her ancestral home.
her fingers work the patchwork shawl
resting on her rigid stomach,
carrying her child who is
a few days away from birth.
the needle pokes her finger.
she stops and looks up.
everything outside is green,
walls, rocks and the tall grass
sprouts magically every year.
she sighs, closes her eyes and leans back
and absently feels the texture of the shawl.
she dozes into her thoughts.
her neck gently releases its hold on her head,
until her chin rests on her chest.
her breath goes in and out,
soft from her parted lips
her left hand resting face up on her lap
the index finger with a tiny spot of blood.
the other hand holding the needle.
© 2020 Padmavani Karkera