Venomous

Sometimes when K.

across from me in the dark

happens to ask, or even

before she does, or if not,

I wonder how faithful 

my memory is 

to the taut silver edges of

what really happened, if

the scorpion I saw once

on that windowsill, stilled,

really gleamed at the sting

with a vicious drop of

venom: did I see it

at all?

She tells me of snakes

in the field under darkened stalks, 

and I think to tell her of 

the creature that slithered past 

just this morning, 

a glimmer of light at my feet 

that vanished at sight. 

It left the faintest taste of 

green on my eye. She waits,

but I do not say, convinced

all at once of a bond I could not break

between that silver-green baby snake

and my curious, wondering gaze.

monsoon haikus

I sit alone in

dark library innards while

outside, monsoon light.

The slugs last night were

inching along in silver;

now, only dark stains

on the college road.

The air is full to bursting.

It must rain again.

wild loves

I keep slipping postcards and words

into the notebook I will never send you.

It is a thick purple, and has leaves hidden

inside the paper. I trace over them listlessly.

It was not as though I called you daily

when you were around. Somehow knowing

that you existed, in a kurta and bindi, wild hair

falling over your wild smile, was enough.

Love is never enough, that’s the thing.

I keep trying to slip you into boxes

you don’t understand and don’t need.

Your words are dim stars in my eyes.

I miss you wildly, but not desperately.

I do not need to call. You still exist, if

even farther than before. It should be 

enough. Love should be enough.

Dancing girl

My mother has taken to dancing

I mean she still stands straight
as a pole at evening parties
and full of poise at nightclubs

But recently in daily life
she has been wild

In the morning when I tell her
she looks like a vision
she does a little jig to celebrate

She must jump when she wears
a jumpsuit, of course

I read the words of another poet
(dance is a body’s refusal
to die) and think of her
over & over

She wants to see all the world
she pirouettes in bathroom chappals

When we drove through Scotland
she stopped the car where she liked
she couldn’t get enough of the sky
at Skye, it was too blue, too much
to hold in her body
She whirled like a dervish on the highway

And then at the Great Wall of China, she
couldn’t help herself, her joy spilled out
all over the countryside
She held out her arms till they
reached sun and giggled till she was red

Danced like the first girl at Mohenjodaro
toppled over onto ancient cobblestones

Reached home with two bruises
like continents on her knee
She is unfazed.

on shame

It comes easy
to me, for some reason,
that white hot ribbon
in the belly. A mistake,
or an ignored wave, or
an awkward gesture left
unfinished. But recently
I have been trying
to let go as easy —
let the cringe travel
up my spine, let my
abdomen clench itself,
face tighten in pained
expression, but then
let go, breathe in quick
and then breathe out
real slow, careful to expel
CO2 and also all
the other bad things,
the pellets of self-hate
that gather in the gut,
the fear that freezes,
the shame that burns
everything for a small
silly reason. Breathe it
out, remove it from
this body. Make space
for new mistakes.
Nobody was watching
anyway.