my grandmother had a servant girl once
with chocolate skin
who made me dolls out of banana leaves
made me paint out of berries
who could name every flower in the yard
she told me excitedly she was to get married in a month
he was rich, and a doctor, and coming to see her all the way from bombay city
"me," she said, gazing dreamily at the grass as she fed our speckled cinnamon cow, "a wife."
my grandmother had a servant girl once
with cracked skin like glass
who dried the rice grains slower than usual
she accidentally uprooted the berry bushes tripping over her own sandals
"how is your doctor husband?" i teased her, begging to know what grown up love was like
"he is very handsome," she said. "i think he loves me."
my grandmother had a servant girl once
with skin that split like canyons
who forgot to show up to work three days in a row
she forgot the names of almost all the flowers
"why did you miss work?" valiammachy demands.
she shows valiammachy her split skin
"he still loves me," she tells me, like it is truly me she is trying to convince
my grandmother had a servant girl once
with marbled skin
who came to the house with a jigsaw of black and blue painted over her body
she nearly broke under the weight of the milk pot
the cow didn't recognize her distorted face
"does he love you still," i asked, unable to look
"does not matter," she responded. "even if he doesn't, i cannot leave."
my grandmother had a servant girl once
skin became a skeleton
much too early.
sometimes i see where she is, driving past with my father when we visit her homeland
as she rests in peace with the banana leaf dolls
and the flowers
beneath the earth like chocolate.
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
homeland burning
Poesiahear your homeland calling as it burns to ash. 2017, wiildflowerhoney.
