Sisters from Skin Farm
collapse for nights
after the theft of their skin
run from rooms bright enough
for non-sisterly sins
return home bare foot
singed on their backs
they haven’t yet seen
farmed for the rich’s healing
know their kind by the same scars
the edges of wounds are dark
but fires are dimmed stars
She returned to her mother’s lap
after every swinging slap
for one pat on the back
that hardened and hardened
until it broke her
God, five-years-old, saves my life
My daughter announced she was God
as earth turned into tides
She’d seen fear, mine,
when I didn’t have enough hands
to wrap around one child,
and also hold another
When I dug the ground with my heels
to plant the three of us like Everest,
my faith was shaking, and she knew.
Then, she let the land swing like a temple bell.
Dust rose to our foreheads like a prayer
My God still stopped the quakes with her breath
until I, too, had two right hands and two left
Bio: Anuja Ghimire was born and raised in Kathmandu, Nepal. A Pushcart-nominee in 2015, she's published in the U.S., Canada, and Nepal in over 40 journals, print and online. She lives in Dallas, TX with her husband and two little girls and writes poetry. In the day, she works as an editor/publisher in the e-learning industry.
Write something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview.