Inquest
Not quite five
feet tall
Head tilted right
Her eyelids
Closed
Arms that held
grandchildren
Now dangle
Lifeless
Nylon rope stretched
by a neck
The other end
swung ‘round
the kitchen beam
Clothes hung out
to dry
Would have suited
Better
Teeth clenched
enough to let
A blue tongue
squeeze out
Legs that walked
many a mile
Now hovers a little
above the ground
Pinholes on the roof
throw dustbeams
Daguerreotype! Strangefruit!
Words leap about
Attempts at a snapshot
is rendered futile
As a breeze preempts the shutter
and the body moves
“She’s acting coy!”
Nervous laughter
A little dampness
on the floor
Urine! And a
triclkle of shit!
Gumboots placed neatly
by the door
Shawl left by the
low hearth
A few sticks
and tea set to boil
As if death
was an afterthought
Did she swing the rope?
Or did she climb
the notched beam
Did she test the noose?
& Calculate the height
with mathematical precision?
Beyond the door
the neighbourhood crawls
Death a magnet
A closer look
reveals a bruise
Above the right eye
and a cut on the head
layered by antiseptic
“She tripped near
the kitchen door”
The old man says
(A slap! And the
head snappin’ back
Is what it seems)
The foster son throws
an accusing look
“It wasn’t me”
The old one pleads with
folded hands
Notes rolled into
the belly fold
And ornaments on the body
are quickly prised
As the body is prepared
for the morgue
With children
on both sides
72 and married again
for the last 14 months
It’s Madison County gone wrong.
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Tashi Chophel is from Sikkim whose works have appeared in Catscanned, Sikkim Now, The Weekend Review, The Sentinel and the IIC Quarterly.
