mango trees laden with fruit
tempted neighbors
to swing in the branches
at odd hours.
The probability of obtaining
kerosene to build a fire
under a toy clay-pot
was remote, unless a brother
trekked to the nearby basti
to get his kite patched.
Boys wrestled in the afternoon
till someone broke an arm,
or tied string on a rat’s tail
and swung it around.
On the bottom shelves of closets,
the paper-dolls lay in cots,
penciled-in eyes trained on doors
that let in rabid dogs.
The houseboy’s disappearance
raised some eyebrows; rumor was
the police held him up
side down till he was all ears
— this after the break-in
he was suspected of, but way after
his peek-a-boo on the way to Grandmas.
~ Saba Husain
Saba Husain’s poems have been published in Barrow Street, Cimarron Review, Natural Bridge, Reunion: The Dallas Review, Jaggery, and The Houston Poetry Fest Anthology. Saba grew up in Karachi, but has lived in Houston forever. She has a B.A in Creative Writing from University of Houston.