Several cups and mugs and plates.
We now have tea cups without saucers and saucers without their tea cups.
She has beheaded a Buddha bought from a curio shop in Kolkata.
And a snow globe from Salzburg is now empty of its make-believe snowflakes.
She has also burnt food. And countless utensils. Even though she knows she no longer needs to step into the kitchen to cook.
But I digress. (And that could be another lived poem replete with its own telling imagery.)
Do I worry? Yes. Constantly. Do I get angry when all this happens? No.
I would rather have her forgetful, breaking and burning stuff,
alive,
more than anything else.

…

Ronita Chattopadhyay (she/her) finds refuge in words. She also makes a living out of it while supporting not for profit organisations in India. Her poems have appeared in The Hooghly Review, Roi Fainéant Press, The Afterpast Review, Setu, among others, and anthologies by Querencia Press (Winter Anthology 2024) and Sídhe Press (To Light The Trails – Poems By Women In A Violent World).