I try to explain to my coworker
the concept of a Pakistani auntie—
an older woman in the community
who knows everyone’s business,
opines on every right & wrong,
wonders why you’re not married
& whose sword of judgment
can cause your extradition from society.
Jamil raises a hand to interrupt me.
Jamaicans have aunties too. Really, all cultures do.
Auntie is not a person—it’s a state of mind,
attained by anyone, at any age.
I throw my head back in laughter. Victor settles
across us, sets down his warmed curry, scenting
the lunchroom. All the curry people at work—
South Asians, Filipinos, Jamaicans & Trinis—
tried his Ghanaian goat curry last Christmas
& GOATed it unanimously. He nods vehemently
at Jamil’s definition of an auntie.
Around us, TV screens are blaring scenes
from Minneapolis. Our all-glass building
backs into the woods. Some days a doe emerges.
Today she steps close to the clear walls
under the flurrying sky, the sun glinting
in her calm brown eyes, the fawn
brawn of her body soft in a state of repose –
a privilege to exist, knowing she is what she is,
knowing she is not hunted.
Ain Khan is an emerging Pakistani-Canadian poet and writer based in Ottawa. Her work has appeared in Rattle, Thimble, DarkWinter Lit, Republic of Letters and is forthcoming in CV2.
