we're not even thinking of marriage... just
looking for the best biriyani in Queens--
we're still in New York but it feels like
we're still in New York but it feels like
we're in India and A is a bit too white
for this place and so I take his hand
right then, the old man sitting
outside the mosque
looks up and then
looks up and then
strides up to us
to tell us
to tell us
love is always precious to Allah
as he lifts his hands in blessing
as he lifts his hands in blessing
*
we're making on our way back
driving through Texas
and stopping
at a one-traffic-light town
thinking it would be an adventure
to sit at the diner where there are very
few women and every man wears a hat
bow-legged, an old man walks down the aisle
as if he's in a Western... I don't think he's looked
at me even once, but gazing earnestly into A's eyes
he says, I think your woman has a very nice skin color
10 comments:
Woof. That last line, Maya. That's a gut punch. This is a beautiful peek into your life together. Absolutely publish-worthy!
Nice.
Beautiful poem. And I like the reference to Texas- I think I can picture that one-traffic-light town.
Oh I love this one so much!! That last line! And the blessing from the older gentleman!
Thanks, Nicole XX
Thank you, Gillian!
My sister lived in San Antonio, and I'm fond of Texans and Texas... Thank you, Jenny!
Thank you, Lisa... I wanted to honor surprisingly uplifting (not always perfect, but still) encounters after that restaurant thing...
I like the joy and surprise in this one, maya. The first encounter especially was described beautifully. The phrase "your woman" in the last line is almost primitive, and the compliment itself is awkward, as if the old man really made the effort to say something to show his support.
That twist at the end, oh dear. But I can tell from the title you are trying to meet him halfway.
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