Kalli

Kalli followed me 8 miles
to the market where cattle were traded
or sold like slaves.
Cows goats bullocks camels . . .

Kalli was black beautiful and six
the prime age for a water buffalo.
She was dry. Repelled bulls as if she had
decided not to get pregnant again.

Hard to afford, my father decided
to sell her. Kalli seemed to understand.
She obeyed as I led her
by the steel chain, one end in my hand

the other around her neck.
I was fifteen. Her nervousness was over
soon after we entered the market
where sellers occupied

their given spaces like matrimonials
on a large weekly page.
Kalli sat with no emotion on her face
like an ascetic close to nirvana.

I sat stood walked around like a
neglected calf. No body bought Kalli.
She followed me 8 miles back home
with no questions in her eyes.

I wasn’t sure if my father was sad
or glad to see Kalli back. He just
looked at her like a family member
who had missed the train.

KALLI