ACTING ANGER
At the bus stop, I hold my head high.
I’m not a bride of long ago
being forced into marriage with someone she doesn’t know.
I’m not a widow of long ago
whose world is circumscribed to a circle at her feet.
I’m the granddaughter of a woman
who was brave.
Who used her anger.
Who told me to treat the world as my stage.
I hold myself as straight as I can on crutches.
Pretend I’m the legendary Queen Kaikeyi,
whose strength in battle impressed King Dasharatha
so much
he begged for her hand in marriage.
I stare down the first nosy stranger
who questions me.
He’s a lowly subject
of the kingdom I rule.
The bus
is my royal chariot.
I return every curious glance
with my imperial glare.
No one dares pester me.
On my way out of the bus,
I poke through the crowd with my crutches.
The old woman who sits up front jerks her chin at me.
“You there. Girl.
When are you going to tell us how you lost your leg?”
My regal stance must not scare everybody.
I bare my teeth in a too-wide grin.
“Crocodile bit it off.”
My sarcasm is lost on her.
She bends toward me.
“How exactly did that happen?”
“Like this.” I thrust my face next to hers, open my mouth
and snap it shut. Crocodiles don’t growl, but I roar, “Grrrr.”
The woman shrieks and
a ripple of laughter spreads
as I stride down my royal staircase.
Maybe I was mean. But if it’s won me peace, it’s worth it.
Paati’s right. It’s all a matter of how you deal with things.
And Chandra’s right.
I’m strong. Even if my body is weaker.
My crutches tap out a victory march.
I strut,
tired but triumphant, toward school.
FIRST STEPS
“Is this my leg?”
A foot stuck on a metal pipe
all-too-visible through the transparent plastic “leg”
that doesn’t match
the curve or the skin tone of my real leg.
“A trial limb. The clear plastic lets me check the fit.
You can practice with this
until the more modern one is ready.”
Jim shows me a “silicone sleeve” that looks like a sock made of gel.
The sleeve fits over my residual limb.