As I Rest my Head
As I rest my head
Against the French window
Looking out on my yard
I wonder.
As families pushing strollers
Or runners in bright green
Tread on the bike path,
I think of
Where she is, my grandmother.
It is two in the afternoon.
She is likely asleep, in a
Room with no air-conditioning.
I remember the man
Who caught my cart
Before my luggage fell into the street
And proceeded to scold me.
I see the samosas
Dropped into the oil
And then parcels placed in my hand
For twelve rupees.
Outside our home,
The dog, covered in fleas
Scavenging rubbish
To fill its belly.
A veranda with brick floors
Whose corners bear a garden.
From which my grandmother
Plucks pomegranates and mangoes.
But then my mother calls
And I sigh and trudge upstairs,
Walk into my room,
And lie on the white comforter.