it flows

by Kasturi Goswami

My abuela bled in the colour green

Her ichor - divine and destined

Worshippers gathered every moon under the old oak tree

Offered prayers with sweet honey and peaches

Words of faith sought redemption 

They placed their oaths on her shrine

Blood and sweat ramified for the eternal truth.

My mama bled in the colour blue

Her body-sealed within the caves of a prison

A prison called haven

Here, haven skimmed out abundant pastures

Ones that ran through to the horizons

And fields brimming with wildflowers and trees,

Swarming with the admirers at large.

I bleed in the colour red

Haven welcomes me - burks and censors

My hide decorticates and forges a new me

Scraggly limbs and chipped nails peer out in between bars

Charred knees and thin thorax hold up a pale and raggedy mug

They chant my name and lay bare 

In a place outside a prison called haven.

Kasturi Goswami is a blogger who features on her website colourfulingrey. You can follow her on Instagram and Twitter.