No. 12 – The Covid Months

By Nandhini G. Natarajan

 

I catch sight of a masked woman,

with wild hair and crazy eyes,

starting menacingly at me.

I realize it’s my reflection

in the shop window.

 

The dog cries for mercy,

as it has already been

on three-hour-long walks.

Now the neighbors

want to borrow her.

 

I look suspiciously at everyone,

at the store,

and wonder whether they have taken

the last pack of toilet paper.

 

I am an avid gardener now.

My backyard seems like

the great outdoors.

I go out 3-4 times a day to check

how much my vegetables have grown.

I call all the plants,

and even some weeds

by the personal names

I have given them.

 

I cut up all the bed sheets

and have enough material

for masks till

the next pandemic.

 

I notice the scar

on my husband’s face

for the first time.

I learn he has been clean-shaven

for the last six months.

 

Alcohol has made

the skin on my hands

like old shoes.

But I don’t care.

With my hair, my eyes

and my skin,

nobody recognizes me

anymore.