Your kaftan flutters in the air.

A cluster of dragonflies spills out of the nearby bushes, and I hear the door shut.

I feel their burn in the conch of my ear first.

The snap of their heels against the kitchen floor.

The spritz of amber that clouds the atmosphere.

The sails of their saris, stiff against the wind.

They come bearing offerings.

A glistening white trout.

A steaming pot of saffron rice.

Roasted eggplant topped by a handful of sleek edamame.

They sit and serve you, lips painted a deep, unrelenting red.

Your pepper hair is now stained with a smattering of salt.

Your body waned and wasting away.

Your sisters scan you over with avian eyes.

A cascade of golden bangles heralds sweet cardamom tea down their throats.

I watch the ice cubes stick to the bottom.

Watch them circle the seeds.