Wingword Poetry Prize 2018

pepper and salt Ipsita Banerjee My mother used to love pepper, my father Teased her about it, said it made her dark Dark she was, freshly ground on our lives Emitting flavour and spice.

The bite that we bit into And sometimes gagged. My sister Saw the orangutang and announced That it had become black eating pepper “just like Ma”, everyone laughed.

I don’t remember but the story Lost nothing in the telling. I like to think I remember; the zoo, the blue frock I wore..

Was it blue? How would I know?

In my mind sprinkles of black and white Muddle with memories of tiny hands Reaching out, asking to be picked up, Is this then my first memory? I pick out Whole pepper corns from my food Even now, casting them aside Like the seeds of a poisoned fruit.

Blackness sprinkled our lives like all others Catechisms wailed outside the door Asking to be let in. I leapt unhindered By whatever waited outside. The darkest Day was when father died. The light Was cruel, daylight burned and the nights Were blacker still. The memories I spawned 29