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Sati Mata In Jackson Heights

Sita's getting chubby; "I'm pregnant," she claims. Ma's henna-tinged hair bursts into flames. It never lived but Ma shrieks "Honor is dead!" Sita never wanted marriage but now how will Sita wed? At thirty-six Sita's not a child. That perfect plastic smile her whole life she's smiled. Enough! Ma is on fire. She burns on the pyre of dead traditions and parched dreams. And life goes on.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2013




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Date: 7/9/2014 12:30:00 AM
Anamika, Congratulation, on having your poem featured on the soup's home page. Always & Forever ~LINDA~
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Date: 7/8/2014 8:38:00 AM
A very captivating poem. I feel the repression and hope for breaking away from it's chains. Wonderful verse and visuals. :)
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Date: 11/9/2013 3:52:00 PM
"Ma's henna-tinged hair bursts into flames." Such lines captivate me and the resignation/though sad ending probes my mind. Kathy
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