The Blue Door

By Anuradha Prasad

Coats of cobalt,
interrupted by brass –
a knocker with a lion’s
roaring head, give
the door a solidity
it doesn’t possess –
in a kick it would
splinter but she knows
it’s about appearance.

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The grass bristles on
the side, her forgetfulness
untames beauty, a spurt
of coarse laughter
in bleached green.

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You’ll know her
anywhere, icy gaze,
gray peeking where
the hair has gained inches
escaping the indigo grasp
of a hair dye, its dark rinse
dripping into drain. Forgive
me dear, she often says,
she only just remembers
her name.

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Anuradha Prasad is a freelance writer based in Bangalore. She writes poetry and short fiction. Her work has appeared in Literally Stories, Muse India, and The Bangalore Review. 

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