Being peripheral
I can’t offer opinions on climate change
oil prices, the middle east crisis.
I am a rare breed of fish.
Well-meaning white hands
finger the paisley filigree of my
Mysore silk shawl.
Their voices are playful
Their eyes throw nets
stale questions to hook me like bait
“Is female infanticide still common?”
“Are you going for an arranged marriage?”
“Where are you from? Originally?”
One false move, a wrong gesture or phrase
And I will give myself away
and be out of place.
How pleased they look
It’s a personal triumph
I don’t drop my cutlery or my vowels.
A Pantone shade of brown
I become only a colour in certain rooms

But what I feel think or eat
I refuse to accept as marginal.
I choose not to talk of sacred cows or
Dog down gurus striking yogic pose.

I have earned my right
to claim this slice of sky as my own.
To plant my flag, to sow my seed.
Don’t you dare push me to the edges of a
faded pink map
My face pinned to a rogue’s gallery
labelled minority alternative arts.

Reshma Ruia is an award-winning writer and poet based in Manchester. This is a new version of a poem that first appeared in her poetry collection, A Dinner Party in the Home Counties (Skylark, 2019). She is the co-founder of The Whole Kahani, a collective of British south Asian writers.

Poetry submissions to thursdaypoems@gmail.com.