God writes your name in stardust when you’re born
Her Gogo used to say
And she would glance up at the sky and wonder
Which constellations birthed her mother
And she’d pick one and chatter to it
As if it held her mother still
But she was young and always changed the pattern
Depending on her mood and view
The baboons are getting married
Mkhulu used to laugh
When a rainbow filled the sky
And she wondered how they made such a beautiful arch
And if a human had ever witnessed such a spectacle
I want to call up all the ones I said I loved before
Not because now
I know real love
But because now
I know they were shit
And yet the
shame hangs over me
When really it
belongs to them
Did I love him
who patted my head and thought he spoke better German?
Yes, carelessly
Did I love him
who carted me around his events like annoyingly oversized (read: over the
weight limit) luggage?
Yes,
conveniently
Did I love him
who confessed another love before I had dressed?
Which time and
which lover?
Did I love him
who threatened me with lions at my door?
Yes,
desperately
Did I love him
who denied me to his family like a guilty little child hides a theft?
Yes, with
loneliness
Did I love him
who destroyed me as a child?
No
And now with a
husband
None of the
above- a mostly good man
I warily eye my
past
And wonder why
I allowed such things
With all my
intellect and strength
My husband
complains about my carelessly discarded tampon
Taunting him
with blood instead of neatly wrapped in tissue
I show no
mercy, and unleash the rage
Of all the
women I was before
Who tolerated
far worse
Do I love
myself now?
Perhaps.
Inspired/in homage to the great poem by Vir Das- I come from two Indias
I come from an America that sanctifies a bundle of DNA
inside a uterus
And I come from an America that equally sanctifies the gun
and the executioner’s chair
So that when that unwanted fetus breathes its last
It may die by one or the other
I come from two Americas
I come from an America that extolls the virtues of our
democracy abroad
While giving two presidencies in my lifetime to men with
fewer votes
I come from two Americas
I come from an America full of every color and creed and I
think that’s beautiful
When the schoolchildren put their hands over their hearts
each morning and pledge
Indivisible, with liberty and justice for all
In classrooms surrounded by children whose faces and
economic backgrounds are a mirror to their own
I come from an America in which the average size of a woman
is my size; 170.6 pounds
And I come from an America where I’ve never seen a 170.6
pounds woman on TV
I come from two Americas
I come from an America where the threads that hold together
our better angels have never been so tenuously stitched
And I come from an America where every day I see the
indomitable power of American alms with a generosity unmatched in all the world
I come from two Americas
I come from an America where 60% of the population doesn’t
have a passport and yet 20% speak a language other than English at home
And I come from an America where both statistics are
meaningless
Because leave is not a right and most Americans would rather
bleed out or call an Uber to the hospital than pay for the ambulance ride
I come from two Americas
I come from the America covered in vast, natural landscapes
and beautiful, diverse peoples living together
And I come from the America where blood has been spilled
every day since the first
For this and to this
I come from both of these Americas
That will either revile or rejoice
At one side of these dichotomies or the other
Stomping our feet with a boldness and audacity
That inspires both wonder and fear
I gave you a strong name
It means We are
Thankful
But I do not
feel Thankful
Just dissonance
At the
unflinching gaze
You cast upon
the guinea fowl
When we
slaughtered five
And they lay
writhing and flapping
Headless before
you
In contrast to
The tender way
you pat my belly
And ask if my
tummy is feeling better now
If I could wish
one thing upon your nature
-Whatever claim
I have on that-
Do not lose
your joy
And always be
kind
Poem for the First Born:
After twenty-seven hours
Of blood and pain and stoic fear
They placed you on my chest
And I felt my soul
Exit my body
And hover somewhere near the ceiling
Before settling into your tiny chest
With a sigh and a blink of your eyes
And then I knew
Why they say we’re a vessel
For I was a shell
Where a woman had been
And my purpose now
Was to nourish my soul
As it grows inside of you
And I know that one day
When you’re older
Or grown
My soul will float back into me
But for now, my child, it lives
Within you
And merely visits me
Via your little smile each day
When my last child was born
A planned unplanned induction
With scary prognosis
A doula, a doctor, so many nurses
And a worthless epidural
I had a ring of women around me
Cheering loudly with each screaming push
You can do it
Almost there
Keep going, don’t stop now
So that I felt like a gold medal winner
When they placed you on me
And my soul that was habituating in my first born
Snug at home
Grew roots through his heels
And cavorted under the pavement the 1 mile from our house
To the hospital where it climbed
To floor 10 labelled labor recovery
Finding the last born and twining in his toes
And then creeping like vines into my navel
Three root threads
Tethered to one soul
