wildscape. literary journal

Oh Inaya…
by Neha M. Sampat

I remember what it was to be 12 and starting to bite your tongue only to realize your blood tastes like righteous rage, all steely and sweet, all mineral and meat. 

Bite me instead. Bite the beating rhythm of pain right out of my head until there is only a quiet that keeps no time. Until my breath in must not sing out but only drain from me, aspiration to atmosphere. 

Only you know the sounds I am still too stiff with grief to form into words that, untamed, untangle themselves from letters into lines, telling me where I end and you begin. 

My darling daughter, you are a wilding witch, alchemizing the iron in your blood - once and still mine - always for you - into armaments. You who spits spark into flame to forge from our ferritin a shield. You who screams, “Stop it!” to me because you know that love lives in palms opened, not fists clenched. You. 

You. 

Sometimes, I want to scream at you and your daughters - all shooting branches and blossoms budding - to stop saying stop it! To behave! To respect your elders. But instead, I tilt my head towards my roots and silently wish I could send the message back in time. 

And then, I bite my tongue.

about the author // Neha M. Sampat