Madam Tachlitzky Mourns Her Husband, by Helen Freeman

Madam Tachlitzky, by Amrita Sher-Gil (India, b. Hungary) 1930

Madam Tachlitzky Mourns Her Husband

She keeps her Cashmere shawl wrapped 
round her shoulders day and night, 
breathes the smell of mountain pine,
snow and goat, father’s willow workshop,
mother’s roti and most of all him.

Addicted to flu-strength pills,
she sits confined in her room, 
moping and sighing. Her eyes, 
once lit up with joy, now feel like weights
pulling her down, heavy with tears, framed 

by falling grey waves. Her mind 
spins. She can’t wrap herself up 
enough. Where is the promise 
of warmth? She fingers the heft and weave, 
knots and folds, the sometimes fibrous beast 

of their marriage, claw marks, rips, 
darns and then that final tug 
unravelling. Ruby woo 
tints her lips and cheeks this afternoon, 
at least she’s made an effort today,

but she won’t don her bangles 
or bindi again. No more 
silk sarees. No jasmine wreaths.  
His Indian parakeet whistles, 
waits in silence, but no one replies.

Helen Freeman

Helen has been published on several online sites such as Ink, Sweat and Tears, Red River Review, Barren Magazine, The Drabble and Sukoon. She loves reading The Ekphrastic Review and now lives in England after many years in the Middle East.