| 6. dream
In seventy nine
I drew your house on chart paper and knocked on your door
With my blue crayons.
Rukmini was so beautiful. Indraa was dull.
And Airavat, tusk of marble, eyes of a sage
In the backyard, was restless and pacing.
In eighty three, I wrestled Anit.
The grasses was tall in Port Blair
And you was a dragonfly in the air,
And Anit, I said, that thing
In the grass is Krsna.
And he chased you
Flailing his arms,
Thin legs and thin voice,
Down the rain marshes
Where the ground was a little dry
And the rocks unclaimed.
Then the last winter
When I was fine and John felt faint
Down the book-lane of Darya Ganj,
You walked by mumbling,
You wore yellow clothes, torn and tied,
And John said you know, I think,
That's what you'd look like before you died. next: theysay |
