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Fri, Aug. 20th, 2010, 06:36 pm
wrote this in the winter

7 Visions of Myself in 20 Years

It is winter and
I am drinking tea from a
mason jar in an
armchair straddling
a beam of sunlight ushered
through old window panes.

It is winter and
old pains in the spoon
dip of my back and the
depth of my temple are
beside me as I (I am too
few years on this earth
for this) walk quiet weighty streets.

It is winter and
loudspeakers carry the adhān
into my room where
bedsheets like bandages
adhere to my chest, I step
out into the garden and
pick a mango still
dripping night rain.

It is winter and
I press the pads of my toes
against her sighing
knees, my closed eyes facing
outwards and, around my
back, she wraps her ladle body.

It is winter and
rain has leaked into
the train and drips
down inside walls, the
chaiwalla dances through the
car and the hot tea spice
grounds my morning.

It is winter and
his body orbits my
chair, him chopping
omelet vegetables while
Billie Holiday and Nina Simone
carry conversation, and I
wonder who will sing the
blues in these 30s.

It is winter and
my February daughter is
ten years alive this
morning, I am mixing pancake
batter and smiling
to myself, thinking
I am too few years on
this earth for this.


Sat, Aug. 21st, 2010 05:42 pm (UTC)

omg, i love this, the last three gave me chills.