Friday, May 20, 2011

Rain and Mamu

The sound of thunder always removes me
to some place else
that was my home.
There was a room in the house that overlooked the Ring Road.
If the rain was falling thick
you could still see the cars moving on the road. Especially the bright red ones.
When the thunder growled
the qwati in mamu's wok started bubbling.
She would drop phing in it
-noodles that shone like crystal.
The sheets were always clean
white, clean, with pink flower patterns,
sometimes spattered with Chelpark ink.
Tonight, my sheets still feel the same
-clean, white, fresh- no stains.
I'm still Mamu's girl.
I still sit in bed, listen to thunder
the soft patter of the rainfall,
and wake up to Mamu's broth and
warm breasts.


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