By Zara Rahman
when baba called me to sit
I peeled my ears off
and let them mold in his walnut palms
for him to begin
While your Daadi and I were living in Canada together, and she had her last toes dipped
into heaven; we went to visit the doctor. The doctor was a stout Italian man, with butter
blotched teeth and a brown suit. He asked my mom what her name was. I sounded the
syllables into Bangla and she replied,
Sophia.
baba begins to laugh.
The doctor’s eyes rolled into round roti. He stuttered shock waves to say that was his
daughter’s name. His daughter sat on the corner of his ebony desk with a graduation
cap slung over her head. I swear electricity must’ve stunned his organs and white flesh
when he talked to your grandmother. They were family now but he still spoke with a
salted tongue. What else ya expect from Doctor Butter Teeth? Someone like us could
be like him.
once baba told me this story
I start to write
maybe because I am tired of thinking
maybe to bring back Sophia from the dead
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