February

I’m crawling out of this season of hard cold winter,
That stayed long enough. 
The bottom of my feet kicked up dirt on the hard asphalt.
When I planted a mango tree it smelled of green earth — 
Pulsing sun, dirt, and water. 
I do remember this. I pinned summer light upon my back 
And made no apologies for the space I took up — 
Barely clothed and sun-burned.

Now, a ball of cotton in the grey sky. 
The sun rolls low on the horizon, hangs, 
Then dips behind a city block.
Wind howling us into the night.
Inside in the erratic rhythm of this flickering 
Shadows and light, 
I conjure up the potent sky of the longest day;
Seeds, with a whole galaxy inside them. 
Cicadas vibrating outside
On the branches of a giant neem tree.

I never expected to find myself in such a cold place,
My hands dry out against the cold. 
I let the memory out, let it linger on the horizon,
Some kind of flying like a kite — again and again. 
I loosen the buckles of my mind to fly back in time,
To the days of dried out paddy fields, and herds of cattle —
I let it stay there.