In anticipation, everything is dried and reheated
in April sun. Dogs and flowers and sheets laid out
in April sun. Dogs and flowers and sheets laid out
listless in the soup-like air. All the roads are dug up,
in progress, tar steaming at noon, the spinning of dust.
On the scooter ahead of me, the woman's sari
is so perfect, red pleats embroidered with gold,
that I don't speed past them. I follow, let the light
bounce off her fit. It's the best thing to happen all day.
If there is a right way to be, it has not been told to me.
I love too hard too quick it does not work. I slip.
The coconut trees shed their leaves like large, tangible
promises. Drying in the heat. Ready to reach the ground.
And me? Some days I am a healthy plant. Some days
a gap in the room through which you can see the moon.
There is something I wait for. But it does not come
until it comes. Until it comes, I will wait for rain.