JULIET (II)

White-bellied moths
throw themselves
on the wall

I have the lamp on

You’re out like a light
as they say--
the father says

Meanwhile I keep the lamp burning
burning

Light like a wave
in my chest
pulse like touch
palms burning
radiate
desire

_

Adventures in Breastfeeding (II)

We’re pretty certain that Baby A is a fledgling butch dyke, so we’re eager to have her learn, at least before she starts dating, that she ought to look at women’s eyes when they talk to her--not their boobs. I was trying to tell her yesterday, but all she did was lunge at me. It would’ve been scary if she wasn‘t ten times smaller than I am.

*******

Baby A’s pretty versatile in the looks dept. When she wears gold ornaments and belly-button-baring cholis and pavadais, she’s a tote tewt princess. But put her in the determinedly-gender-neutral clothes we favor, and she mostly looks like (the older) Mark Wahlberg (see fledgling butch dyke ref above). And since I have no special fondness for said Wahlberg, it’s quite disconcerting when I’m feeding her half asleep, first thing in the morning, and look down to see his face at my breast.

*******

Also, it’s probably what I get for watching the telly while preg, but just before she latches on, Baby A makes this “heh-heh” sound that sounds like George W. Or rather, Jon Stewart doing an imitation of the W., which makes it pretty giggly.


_

ANNIVERSARY

I noticed things
about you
those

first few moments.
Afterwards
there was never

again
a
time

when I could
judge you
dispassionately

or even
see you
objectively.

I believe in you now
not knowing if its true
not caring if I’m wrong

Just knowing.
Caring.

__

SU-PRABHATAM

It’s early I’m up today
watching the sun’s reflection
rising in the warmed
window pane

So it’s morning
Birds try to say
not yet.
You snore

Not yet.
Na iti.
Not this.
Yes.


_

ANATOMY

I've let dreams
lead me
into the night,

rinse and repeat
sadnesses that
the heart recognizes.

People are
strangers,
their worlds stranger

I always go away too far,
it’s a good thing you did
waking me up

Saying, it‘s the bad air
that makes nightmares--
I call it breath.

_

JULIET

It’s morning already
cogs turning clear
annoyingly bright

If I were sensible
I would start the long road
to my parents’ home now

You huddle me under the sheets
your joints locked
into corners around me
hunger and the scent
of love close
enclose me

I’m wrestling you
for the freedom to breathe,
laughter choking my lungs

You exert your lover’s rights
to drip saltily on me
I reach to wipe your brow
but o, my love, my heart--
your eyes…


_

For the Love of Mike

As a precocious high-schooler, I used to review Madras (now Chennai) theater for the now defunct (what did you expect, they hired me as a stringer) Sunday Mail. Which meant that in every production i reviewed, i was treated to Michael Muthu in various roles for two years straight--and that as a result of such constant exposure, my friends and I developed a collective low-grade crush on him.

One morning, sitting in on a rehearsal with MM and his girlfriend, whose name I’ve conveniently forgotten, he asked me if I had seen Scarface because it was his favorite ‘film’.

I’ve never been able to watch more than two scenes from Scarface,* not even for the love of Mike. But my mom was watching Al Pacino in And Justice for All last night, and it occurred to me that (a) It was precisely the kind of role that Ol’ Mike loved to perform (b) He really, kinda, maybe looked like Al Pacino.

That Narcissist :)!

_________________________________
* I think mostly because of the OTT nouveau mob home decor.

_