Travel

"I dislike feeling at home in a foreign country."
~George Bernard Shaw

Anytime

Things I like about you:
~Your job involves helping children
~You keep reminding me that I regularly use words you can't even spell
~During these three years, I've never once heard the sound of your hanging up before I do
~You downloaded Pearl Jam on your comp so you could play it for me
~You make the words "Mad Fowl" seem thoroughly appropriate to describe me
~I can call you anytime of night or day. Anytime.

Temple dust

Evening temple dust
she walks
with jasmine in her hair
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Square temple pond
reflects
the priest's daughter
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Written on a visit to an old temple in rural Kerala, September 2001. The light and shade, the stillness of the green water, the soft-focus, forgiving glow of the oil lamps was all magical.

Two worlds

Glimpsed: Under the scanty shade of a papaya tree, a boy getting a haircut. A tea-colored dog napped nearby; he stretched and yawned. The air in the hot afternoon was still and heavy. From my office balcony I looked down at them and imagined the snipping sounds of the scissors; nothing else moved.

Then I went back into the air conditioned air and sat down at my cubicle in front of my computer screen.

~April 2005, Bangalore

Have you ever felt this way

You and I

I explain quietly. You hear me shouting. You try a new tack. I feel old wounds reopen. You see both sides. I see your blinkers. I am placatory. You sense a new selfishness. I am a dove. You recognize the hawk. You offer an olive branch. I feel the thorns. You bleed. I see crocodile tears. I withdraw. You reel from the impact. ~Roger McGough

Riding horses

Two lovely emails I got, both from the same writer. Reprinted without permission (express or otherwise).

Hope all is well. Getting up in the wee small hours to go ride horses as the sun comes up. Life is getting better.
Miss you as always.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting on that wet bench, I realized that I have so much more to say to you, but it wasn't the time. Timing was never my thing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I miss you too, O writer of lovely emails.

Deep-eyed deer

Poets make pets of pretty, docile words:
I love smooth words, like gold-enamelled fish
Which circle slowly with a silken swish,
And tender ones, like downy-feathered birds:
Words shy and dappled, deep-eyed deer in herds,
Come to my hand, and playful if I wish,
Or purring softly at a silver dish,
Blue Persian kittens fed on cream and curds.

I love bright words, words up and singing early;
Words that are luminous in the dark, and sing;
Warm lazy words, white cattle under trees;
I love words opalescent, cool, and pearly,
Like midsummer moths, and honied words like bees,
Gilded and sticky, with a little sting.

~Pretty Words, Elinor Wylie

Jamaica

Dinner on the pier

I can see starfish

beneath my feet

~Morgan's Harbor, Kingston, Jamaica. Spring Break 2003.

Mother

If I look really close

I can see my mother’s face

In the clouds

~Happy Birthday, Mom!

Pale September

Pale September, I wore the time like a dress that year
The autumn days swung soft around me, like cotton on my skin...
~Fiona Apple in Pale September