The thing about my sister ‘D’ nowadays is,
You never quite know where you stand with her.
“Will she scowl?” or perhaps “she’ll smile reassuringly”;
Or greet me with that unexpected tight hug;
Or lambast me the next second.
Eyes rolling, face twisted in a frown,
Hair deftly tucked behind her ear,
“That’s NOT what that means,” as sarcasm rears its head.
I’ve always thought of her sarcasm to have a green face,
And green hair fashioned into a bob cut,
Like her sisters, disgust and spite.
But when uplifted, D is cuddly
Warm like hot melted butter.
Remember that tight hug? She’ll purr while she’s at it
Or an occasional meow of affection.
It’s quite certain her belief is that she’s a cat in human form.
Her quality of pride though, is the unsociability.
Keen eyes full of scrutiny
Boring into the audience at the Christmas dinner table.
Silent psychoanalysis and Lacanian evaluation,
Or perhaps judgement? Detached;
Other times, lost in thought; a world of her own, entire construction;
Lips sealed perennially; “What’s she thinking?”
One never gets to know unless she adores you.
“I’m not anti-social, that’s the wrong word…
…do you take me for a hoodlum?”
It’s supposed to be a rebuke; instead, I burst
Into peals of laughter.
“Nor is it unsocial. I’m not annoying anyone purposefully.”
Dictionaries are rummaged: “the state of not enjoying
The company of people in general.”
Pat comes the reply: “Simply their presence, is mildly irksome.”
D’s joviality doesn’t end when left on her own devices.
“Is she listening to those songs again?
The ones from the far east?
Or perhaps reading comic strips from the same land.”
You wonder aloud.
Remember what happens if she adores you?
There are hugs while purring and meowing galore,
While she takes you to conversational worlds of her own, entire construction.
Aryaman Chatterjee loves reading and writing about gender, culture, and society.