1 min read

Every time Ivy picks up the call, in one ring, and says, “hanji bataiye” 

I know, with every breath, her name didn’t do justice to who she is. 

A revolution in ink-inscribed scroll, she drapes her wounds 

in saponins and polyacetylene and blood and salt and rainbows. 

My lover is a spokesperson — of the state of grace and generosity

— her magnanimous presence oozes pride out of my gut. 

Ivy waits for hours besides the one, maimed, till the lady comes 

to take him to shelters. Each pur, a reminder. Each wag, a quiet dusk. 

Soft muslin to the skin, lemongrass to the tea.

She is what mothers love but only from a distance. 

Ivy is a woman gulping words for dinner.

Addhaya Anil (they/them) is a queer feminist artist from Bihar. They are “driven and guided by love” and spend their leisure time in varied creative pursuits.

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