Dina wants to know
about back doors
her ruby mouth purses
velvet tongued she
leans towards me
on the lime green sofa
knees one way, body another
legs to everywhere

the sun spills from our hands
into the bone china cups
I notice a new wrinkle
on the back of my hand

straightening my dopatta, I say
back door? are you kidding?
I can barely stand
the face to face myself
my husband takes what he gets
those with boyfriends toyfriends
I look meaningfully at her
can experiment all they want

Dina sighs impatiently, leans away
her black silk top slips
across her collarbones
no longer as defined
as when we were all newlyweds
but still an invitation

ask Juthi, I say
Juthi? Dina asks astounded
her lips an oval opulence

we look at Juthi
she has no makeup on
proper cotton kamiz, perfectly pressed
checking her son’s homework
lokhi meye, Juthi

ki? she asks
becoming aware of our gaze
she stretches like a cat
a cat with a cigarette

Juthi? Dina asks me again
ask her, I say laughing

my flat is so quiet in the day
when the kids are at school
we’re high above Kamal Ataturk
the traffic a muted roar

Juthi takes a drag
all the poise of a trained starlet
first, she says
you need to get KY
a trained starlet with a messy ponytail

Dina interrupts quickly
I only want to try it

Juthi shakes her head
you can’t just do it once
you’re not going to like it
the first time
she exhales slowly
smoke disappears over her head
as she returns to the homework

she’s probably right, I think

Abeer Hoque is a writer and photographer living in Bangladesh.
See more at www.olivewitch.com

Photographs by Abeer Hoque