Recoil hot fetus
time to play later, you’re ill
close tiny slits, sleep.
Bloody mud piles, play
dig your mean gut, soul, under
Won’t cry over you.
Mourning, an Angel
Coldness, sadness, slap my face
Dawn’s funeral, still.
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Stretching to the sun
pink, yellow. puff balls of dawn
invite me out, play.
Dawning of the day
Yesterday’s nightmares have passed
Rejoice, start anew.
Cheerful, bright yellow, play teapot. Would you like a cup of tea?
Big Yellow Teapot (Photo credit: unloveablesteve)
parents (Photo credit: Mystic Lens)
I never said we were an unhappy family, it’s all a matter of perspective. After all, to the people in our homeland, India, we lived “the American dream.” My younger brother and I were born in India, we lived with our parents and grandparents together in one room. We knew no different, the only thing we knew is eventually we were going to “Merica” but we had no idea what that meant. My brother and I just assumed it was a neighborhood nearby.
Now, fourteen years later, we live in New Jersey and own a small white house, with black trim. My mother was afraid, she said, “to be perceived as too gaudy.” We have a front yard that is nicely manicured (my father brags to people back home that we have hired a gardener.) My mother has the flowers, arranged in red, white and blue rows, perfectly, with soldier-like precision.
Everyone seemed to have acclimated to our new life, except me. I’m seventeen years old, did they think it would be easy for me? As in India we had to continue our very traditional ways in New Jersey. “It is expected of us” my parents would tell me and my little brother, Rakesh to carry on our culture with pride. At the same time my younger brother was getting beaten up in the playground each afternoon. I refused to call him, his Indian name here, so I made up an American name for him in part to annoy my parents and in part to give the kid a chance at surviving elementary school. My parents were furious but I didn’t care, as soon as Rakesh became “Robby” life got a little easier for him.
If they wanted obedient and silent children than they should have never left India. My brother and I wanted to stay in India when we were children but of course they never asked us how we felt. We knew we had no choice anyway, we always did what our parents told us to do, there was no options. We were never allowed to talk back to our parents, in fact, we were not able to talk at all until we had been spoken to. Back home we would not even know the concept of talking back to one’s parent’s or anyone’s elder, it was not done, it did not exist.
We are all playing a role, in our new life here, like actors in a play. By the time we landed here I changed my name to “Annie.” My parents could scream but I did not care, I had to live in this society, so yes, I ignored them. I put up a sweet and demure face, I wore my traditional garb at home and changed into my “real” high school clothes quickly in the girls bathroom when I got to school. I changed into short skirts and tight tops. I pulled my long lack hair into a high pony tail and my friends taught me how to put on make up. I had it down to a science in no time. I only feared my parents coming in unexpectedly but I knew that would never happen.
If I had to stay in this country and honor my parents’ wishes I was going to do it on my terms, that is until I turned 18 and then they would have no control over me. I was counting the days until my 18th birthday. Until that day, and ONLY that day, this façade, this show will go on but after that it would stop, immediately. I had circled my birthday on the black and white calendar with a thick, red marker in boundless abandon, this was my secret. I will play the role of dutiful daughter, I will do whatever they tell me to do until my birthday. The evening of my 18th birthday, I will slowly and quietly pack my things, while my ultra conservative, parents slept, in their separate beds with their overhead fans and ugly, green and white velvet bedspreads with inlaid crystals.
Having planned this for months the night of my birthday I will sneak down the steps and go out the side door. I will tiptoe quietly down the street where Brian, my boyfriend, will be waiting for me in his car. We are leaving together, we are moving to the Village in New York City, Brian has a friend who has an apartment there. If we don’t like it in New York we will go to Boston, or California, wherever we want to go. I will feel free for the first time in my life.
I have to laugh. They named me Ashmita, meaning rock born, hard and strong. What did they expect?
Accident on an Icy Road (Photo credit: born1945)
Frozen breath, standing
ice, painful, purple digits
Drill me from the car.
*
Crying, storms, blackness
hidden away, my heart bleeds
Waiting for your soul.
*
Tumble, tenderly
Alone, huddled with children
Until you found me.
Moon (Photo credit: penguinbush)
Three stars (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Lying lover’s mask
fast twitch, breath, brown eyes, lips tight
I thought I knew you.
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Two angry people
shout, kick each other with words
wounds raw purple, blood
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Two lovers dance
Moon as their backdrop, stars swim
A fine performance.
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His once perfect script
became chicken scratch, later
As he sat, dying.
The kids playing together while dinner is prepped (Photo credit: Alexander N)
“I want to sing like a hyena, and dance like a ballerina
Make ice cream out of your toes
Flip sausages for your nose
I want to run, jump and hide
with my friends at my side
We want to play and never go to sleep
we want to giggle and flop into a heap.
On the days there is no school
we can be found jumping in the park’s pool.
Life is great in every way,
just have friends
like mine, it’s the only way.
If there is someone who seems alone
go up to them and ask them to play along.
It’s not easy being new
so try your best to be kind and true.
It was that way for me
before my friends were nice to me.
So give a helping hand, whenever you can
give everyone a chance to hold hands and play
Peers become important in middle childhood and have an influence distinct from that of parents. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Don’t hurt someone’s feelings
not on purpose and not by chance
think of how you would feel
if you were in their PANTS!
No BULLIES at our school
because we know BULLIES ARE CRUEL!!!!”
Image by spodzone via Flickr
Dear Callie Dog,
A human neighbor saw you the day before yesterday and she commented that you looked “old.” I was offended on your behalf and hurt and I tried not to show it but inside I was sad and angry and yes, scared. Human people don’t go up to other people and say “you really look old.” I know they wouldn’t do that so why on earth did she have to say it about you? Don’t worry sweet dog, sometimes humans have no manners.
If you can no longer jump on the bed, I will carry you. I will hold you in my arms so that you feel safe and talk to you in sweet, soothing whispers. My voice would stay calm and high so that you would know that things are fine. I don’t want, for a minute, for you to feel afraid. I love you more now than I did when I brought you home from the animal shelter at six weeks. We’ve gone through a lot together.
I now see the wisdom in your eyes, those wide brown eyes, contrasting your snowy white chin and whiskers. You look beautiful to me. You may not be able to jump as high as you used to when you were younger but you still jump and most importantly, you still enjoy it. I know you are waiting for the winter, for the snow to fall, so you can play in it. Sometimes we call you “snow dog” because you love the snow so much. Dad will play his game of shoveling the snow with his snow shovel and he will throw it high up in the air and you will bark, as clear as the sound of laughter, when you jump right into the snow. By the way, I hope you know that Dad has as much fun with this game as you do, maybe even more. I know I hate the snow and I’m sorry I don’t go out as much in it but the best part of having snow, to me, is watching your joy. When you have to leave me, please know, that every time it snows, I will picture you in it. I will still hear your delight as you jumped and bounced and tumbled in the white stuff you loved so much. Whenever it snows, I will think of you.
We have both grown up this year haven’t we? Change is happening all around us and we are learning to cope with it and deal with it and most of all accept it. We’ve gotten so much better, you and I. Last time we went in the car together you were scared but that’s okay. I get scared of things too, but we make ourselves do new things even if we feel nervous at first. Remember by the end of the car ride how you stuck your head out the window, looked outside, showed everyone your happy face and your wagging tongue? It was lovely to see.
I will love you forever, Callie, my first dog. Though I don’t want this to happen for a long time, you should know that if you are ever in pain, and I see it in your eyes, I will not let you suffer. One thing I know, I will look into your brown pudding eyes and you will look back into my green eyes and we will talk wordlessly and understand each other as we always do. Any decisions we need to make, we will make together, the two of us. You can crawl into my lap, just like you did the first time we met, and I will hold you tight and not let go until I have to.
For now, while you lay beside me, sleeping, just know I will always comfort you. Whether it is thundering and lightening or hailing outside like it did last night, I will always protect you. Last night, I wrapped my arms around your silken body and I held you and stroked you and talked to you so that you would stop shaking so severely.What I want to say now is simple; thank you for your love and loyalty and kindness. For kissing my tears away, licking my face and sharing blueberries with me. I enjoy our “cookie game” as much as you do. I take a vanilla cookie and hold half of it outside my lips, you take it out of my mouth and we share it. I will try hard, when you are no longer with us, to fight to remember the good times and not just cry at my loss. I will try Cal, I really will; all I can do is to promise to try.
Love,
Mom
*Dedicated to Rosemary’s dog, Mr. H. Rest In Peace.
UPDATE: CALLIE died six months later from cancer.
Image by murilocardoso via Flickr
Rope me in with words
Everything I want to hear
True action means more
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I’m strung out with love
Looking everywhere for it
Everywhere but in
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Kittens romp with joy
Jumping in and out of string
Like puppets at play
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