FATHER WAITS
Mother says, Daya, hurry
For your father waits. He
Does not like to be kept
Waiting, especially not by
A girl. You nod although
No one can see and hurry
Dressing, the bath water
Was nice and warm and
Refreshing and the sight
Of your new womanhood
Reminds you that the little
Girl you were is slowly leaving.
Hurry, Daya, Mother calls,
Rapping on the bathroom
Door, your father is pacing
The floor, his hands are behind
His back and you know what
That means. You brush your
Finger across your eyebrow,
Place your hand on your hip,
Move, gyrate, smile. I am coming,
You say through the bathroom
Door, just putting on clothes,
You add, putting a hair in place,
Gazing at your face. Whom will
You marry? You push the thought
Away, allow your hands to smooth
The clothes. Father is becoming
Impatient, Daya, his pace is getting
Faster. I fear he will explode. You
Sigh softly, perform a small twirl,
Gyrate the hips, move your lips.
As a child your father would grip
Your hand tightly and take you
Off wheresoever he wished. Let him
Wait, an inner voice says. Daya,
Come girl, Father is coming along
The hall. You open the door and pout
At Mother. I am here and ready, you
Say softly, biting back words, seeing
Father hurrying towards you with
Unseen ancestors at his elbows and
Heels, putting his hand to his open
Mouth, swallowing his purple pills.
