Literature
Red Lights in Calcutta
They trace their fingers along
The cage of my captivity:
Sharp prison-bar ribcage,
Protruding through papery skin;
Jutting thrust of starved hipbones...
Their callous hands even upon
The chiseled laugh-lines
Erasing the crease
Of a time before
I forgot how to smile.
Daily, they watch the dying light
Ember out of empty eyes
And force the brunt of their power
Between once virgin thighs:
Ugly, the beauty that money can buy;
Brutal, how I have been objectified.
Once I was a girl, a daughter,
And meant to be a wife.
Our fields my family tilled,
While standing side by side;
Green fields of ginger, turmeric, and peppe