When a boy holds a girl down
and cleaves her in half
like an unripe amla
which has yet to be plucked
by soiled hands, yet to be deemed worthy
for the first sinking of teeth,
 
the girl learns how to fall
to the dirt and stay, still,
she looks to the sky and sees
that singular light blocked out by
 
the boy who learns how to fell
a body, his kneecaps
a fulcrum, hardened by the milk
from his mother's breasts,
mouth cleaving to nipple,
 
swollen and bruised, the girl learns how to hold
a boy inside her, even as she desires
to snap off that unwanted gift between her legs
with a thunderous clap
 
across her cheek,
this is how her father will receive her
when she stumbles home later
and he sees his unwanted gift
who first emerged between the legs of his wife,
 
and now, the girl will learn from her father
what the boy learnt from his father,
that once an amla has fallen,
hitting the floor with a single clap
repeating over and over:
 
it cannot blame the natural force
which pulled it down and kept it there,
it cannot blame the wandering feet,
it cannot blame the ants for being
drawn to sweetness, leaking, left to rot.