Heiress

Heiress

“You are the legal heiress.” She listens.

It weighs her mind; she runs her hands on the throne.

It glistens like a freshly honed sword. Glistens.

Her entire kingdom is not something one craves.

The little house, mortgaged. The watch shop, old.

She knows the reddish papers, ancient stocks;

she knows it is spring in the park when at last

her old man’s breathings have stopped. Heiress indeed!

Her thanking words to the lawyer vanish

even before uttered; even before she thinks.

Thinking of it, - she is to visit her mom

at the asylum with forlorn retarded men

secluded in their world they have created.

Thinking of it she has to make payments

for everything, everywhere. She knows she can.

With her visit, the darned shop looks up; calculates.

The spiders scurry away. She runs her fingers.

Dusts want to speak. Like old men. Volumes to speak.

She settles on the three legged chair, a good listener.

It is spring.

=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar