i am quietly baptized

when you put your face into me

and grip my scars around my arms

when your hand traces wounds of the past

and eventually sinks into my pelvis

i exhale wounds

and inhale hope

where you memorize the trace of me

and i memorize your eyes

and your lips

and your heart

and i let you sit in me till the next morning

i let those flashbacks nourish me

just like flakes of cardamom nourish me

or tamil food kaddais

or the silence of the temple.


healing has to happen

between my heart

and between my legs, too.