The Wall by Archna Sharma

My daughter tells me
you shouldn’t hold your anger in
you should let it out
but not on people
on the wall
How does she know
the blood that sprayed 
on the wall

thirty years ago
in the house with saloon doors
through the kitchen
where mother
cooked alone

meat, before it was meat
squealed inside of a burlap bag
before its head was chopped off
and after, it squealed dead

she skinned and peeled
and boiled it dead
and placed it on top of our plates
no questions asked
just the sound of its head
lopped off, and our eyes
shut so tight we could still see

the bottles clanging in the dark
his hands against her chest
against her throat
his hands full of hair
his face slammed against the wall

In the morning, the burlap bags
lay bloodied and feathered
on the back porch

as she scrubs the blood 
off of the wall

Archna Sharma is native to the Fiji Islands, but resides in the foothills of Northern California, and dreams often of her ancestral land of Northern India. She is a blessed wife, mother of five brilliant stars, and an emerging writer with a deep passion for poetry. She began writing poems and pressing them into notebooks like petals with the intention to reflect infinitely on the quality of preservation; keeping alive those parts of herself that she drilled through rock to get to know. Her publication history includes a poem in Nain Rouge, published by White Cat Publications. She is currently working on a novel regarding the uprooting of people.