My mother’s doctor died.

He knew he was on his way out,
so he admitted himself to the hospital
where he spent his time saving or easing lives
consoling the old and infirm,

that a life well lived
makes illness matter little: go talk
to your neighbour, turn off the tv
stop lying to yourself, and it’s all good.

Today, my mother ambles home
morose with the grip of grief
tightening around her neck
almost as though, she was meant to
save him, for he did his best
to do the same for her.
She has a sugar problem.

During a check up, long ago
he once told me
a grandmother was brought
dead upon arrival,
surrounded
by her grandchildren
all in tears.

Sweet thing, he said,
‘God went easy on her rectum’,
amid the deluge of Delhi summers,

she died, choking on a mango seed.

 

Medha Singh

Medha Singh

Medha Singh is a poet from New Delhi. Her first collection of poems Ecdysis (2017) has been published by Poetrywala, Mumbai. Her poems have previously appeared in Nether, Muse India, Beyond Borders, The Bombay Literary Magazine, The Journal of the Poetry Society, and several others. She has bylines in The Hindu, Mtv (indies), Bordermovement, Rock Street Journal and Rolling Stone Magazine, where she wrote on music. She received her degree in MA, English Studies from Jawaharlal Nehru University. In 2015, she was part of an exchange program as part of her master’s degree, at Sciences Po, Paris where she read International Relations. She is currently working on her second book of poems and a short text on travel fiction. Her poems are forthcoming in the Sahitya Akademi and Red Hen anthologies of Contemporary Indian Writing. Her interests range widely, between philosophy, photography, cinema, music and painting, owed largely to filmmaker Alejandro Jodorowsky. She is Editor-at-Large at Coldnoon.

Comments

comments