Bua Means Paternal Sister

Taiji’s gone. Buried in Detroit. At night those shadow-men flicker

‘round little white factories, their steel peeing smokey grease of our town, not of us.

Can adultresses straighten their starched, funerary gowns? I lick her’s hem, wrinkled.

Honeyed chunks choke my teeth with glee, we Hindu wives arrange our deaths.

Author of the article

Natasha Sharma has taught poetry from preschool through college level, and is focusing her own work on South Asian American experiences in the American Midwest. She’s published in The Hartskill Review, Storm Cellar, As/Us, The Release Magazine among others. She is passionate about mental health education. Natasha holds degrees from Kalamazoo College and Miami University of Ohio. She lives in Toledo Ohio with her husband and two black cats.