Bakula Purnima

by Frances Kai-Hwa Wang

 

Walking in the garden at seven

searching for lima beans

flashlight in my pocket

full moon above

purnima

 

this morning  you asked where the chives were

"in the garden," I answered too straightly

when I took you to where they were growing

you found the lima beans

bakula

 

what are these you asked

I answered without looking

instead of bauhinia flowers you saw beans

surprised delight in your voice

"beans!"

 

We picked and peeled two right there

and ate them raw in the garden

dirt in our fingernails

childhood memories of bitter

frozen lima beans forgotten

and iodine

 

you said more beans will come

all summer long like tomatoes

as long as we remember to water, to watch

I kiss you in front of the neighbors

jutho!

 

now you've gone back to the field

I wander laughing among garlics

tonight you sleep under thatched roof at sunset

will you miss the full moon smiling?

it's the purnima

 

so I stuff my pockets full of lima beans

I run my hands along plants

I'll shuck them off the roof tonight

stir fry them by candlelight

with dhundu

so that beans will continue to come

and let's plant tomatoes too

we can forget bitter frozen memories

find each other in the shimmer of full moons

like new beans

 

bakula purnima

 

An Interior Life

by Jill McGrath

 

Sitting in the interior courtyard

of her home, neat in the sunlight,

not in a restaurant or the jungle

street full of care, carts, buses, commotion,

sipping coffee to wile away the afternoon

heat, the lionish burning heat

from which one could step into the cool

waterfall of a temple or a theater,

cleansed and revived.

 

She is not in the throng of men surrounding

the speaker in the hall, though he is quite famous,

and she would love to hear his words. Not

in the frolicking blooms of the nearby flower garden,

where men stroll haughty and free

in their clean pressed shirts

and dhoti, chatting of the world and its benevolent

forces or the malevolent forces

inspired by the gods' destructions, decreed

by the circle of karmic

wheel and the decrees of her faith;

 

no, here is the space

of calmness she inhabits, filling it

with order, incense and frangipani, red saris

dark as a wound, life

as she imagines it to be,

as she is able. Soon her women friends

will come. Coffee and sweets are ready

for their arrival, but now, silence, the cluck

and murmur of a clock, the faraway

romantic wail of a clarinet, played

perhaps where others might dance

and fill the air with laughter.

 

Her hands are folded, each nail a perfect

red moon (she thinks of night and stars

and that clean edge of moon each day

when she adorns them.) Her hair too

is planned and executed with an air

of great importance; here, in Tamil Nadu,

flowers must be bought each morning and set

like beautiful jewels in waist-length black hair

shining with light, braided

with patience, gleaming

with a scent of jasmine and frangipani.

 

If she were outdoors now, stepping into the dust

of the fermenting street, her hair might dazzle,

might send bees swooning into their hives. Here,

the mirror answers, or rather, does not,

and she's dressed in the necessary and beautiful

sari of her countrywomen,

wound around her like a garland,

the sash the only piece flying

free.

 

Winter Vacation

by Para Limbu

 

I awake,

as the soft light of dawn

falls upon earth.

My mind is still back

among those winter days

 

when we sat together,

peeled the shaddock fruit

mixed its juicy fragments

with yogurt and sugar.

In my memory, I sample the mixture

savor the taste,

and feel the wintry sun

shining down upon us.

 

Mother roasted

popcorn and soybeans,

the seeds smelt good

as they burst

and jumped about

inside the heated pot.

 

My twin and I

wiled away the hours

endlessly talking.

Mother and elder sister,

not finding our jokes funny,

thought that we were

silly.

 

The ringing of the bell is back again

as Joshna, who is learning how to cycle,

stumbles and falls on the muddy rice-field.

 

Time passed by so soon.

I am to go back

to school today.

Now to prepare our beddings,

pack our clothes

so they can be

taken away.

 

Mother

waves her hand

in good-bye.

And my heart sinks

as I watch her

from the taxi window.