Saturday, July 9, 2011

To St. Mary's Convent School


we sat in blue jumpers,

nylon stockings

to the thigh,

and Bata shoes

newly shined:

we smelled

like slate.

Do you love me?

She asked everyday

fingers fingers


arms straight

bent, folded

like amma’s starched saris.

I love you, I love you

like my thumbs!

Lips thick

with disappointment

What does that mean?

Oh jaan, without thumbs

how will I weave ribbons

in your braids

or even tie

jasmine garlands

around your ankles?

Lips stretched,

hasna. Yes

your are my thumbs

gently sucking hers,


to Asha Bhosle tunes

braids undone

sweat dotting brows, she

tasted like

sweet flat bread.

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