Five Bags Full

The two bags of namkeens
Were eked out over weeks.
My sister felt bad when I told
Her how treasured they were. I
Thought your suitcase wouldn’t hold
So much, she said, and to buy
More would’ve been a waste!
She speaks, I thought, as if taste
Lies only on the tongue, a matter
Of spices and dough. As though
The heart were not suffused
With the sweetness and salt
Of home. So this time, she bought
Five bags. All that they had
At the store. This time I told her not
To feel bad. How could a heart ask
For more.

“Life Continues”: A Truth

Universally acknowledged. Plants
Can be transplanted to other
Courtyards, other keepers,
Creepers are harder, but arches
Have been known to tether
Pillars of entrances together.
And the earth itself, in sooth,
Defies being cornered, demands
That we arch its latitudes,
North to South, altitudes flying
Across separation. No imaginary
Line is a bar. In consolation,  Life
Continuously cries – Here we are.
A place to be stable. Here,
Where the round flatness prevents
A slipping off, where
The edge is no bar, no table
No morning mug of tea too far.


For Audur, In Her New Home

A new house is always
A lovers’ dream. A consummation
Of pictures and walls, a yearning
Of spaces for filling. The many ways
In which a corner can touch
A small table, a tall vase; of
Such missed meetings as brass
Candlesticks too awkward to place
Near settees that need the light.
Such may also be the delight
Of warm floors and stockinged feet
Of open doors and a happiness to meet
Those who drink wine at your table
So that when you talk late into the night
And lights come on outside to kiss the sable
Your home is that moment when eye meets eye
And the crowded world settles down with a sigh.