print previewback RAENA SHIRALI
daayan, feet facing forward
peppers & lemon rinds sway in doorways
though i was bred just over their thresholds
& my hair isn’t kept in a braid. kids hunch
behind the bins, stare as i walk by. i know
what they’re thinking : witch, man-eater, lonely
hag. my husband in ashes, my home next
to burn. all this doubling. it’s no wonder
the villagers think of signs, lust after my land
as though it’s anybody’s to take. as though
when they slit the last girl’s throat in the woods,
i simply sat by, not feeling a thing, not flinching
awake every night thereafter—even now. let me
dispel each rumor, make each ember fade
to floating ash : look : i move with something
akin to grace, no backward-facing feet, no taste
for flesh. what would i want with these men
anyway? there’s too much else out here
to love : the air smells bright, & shells of pepper
twirl with abandon. they can’t tell me i’m not
beautiful, smiling up at the deep maroon
skins—the ones meant to ward me off. already
they’re saying it : she’s killed her own kind. bhaiyas,
am i not your own making, your own undoing?
the breeze warms. my sky smells alive. i’m ready. 
daayan, feet facing forward
the procession