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Samantha’s Daily Poem

August 15, 2011

The same sea

It is absurd
that whales
the length of my house
churn the same sea
that I wear
like a big green skirt
as I stand
half in
half out
in my mercurial
human way
whether this moment
is ripe
for a swim.

August 14, 2011

Bombay, May 1996

The heat is a vise
choking the moisture
out of the air
the sun is obsessed
with this place
surely she is not staring
anywhere else

The men here have legs
like stilts
balanced on dusty bulbous heels
they make no sound
when they walk.

The women defy
they don’t sweat
even though they are wrapped
in yards of fabric
and do the work
of mules.

An old man stands behind
a cauldron of boiling oil
serving up pakoras
and fried bread.

My skin wants to blister
from ten feet away
as I feel the heat
double up on itself
I give the man my bottle of water
I want him to drink it
soak his head.

He pours it into a bowl instead
at his feet
and it is then that I see
the dog
a ragged little thing
lapping it up.

August 13, 2011

Ode to beets

Their legs poke up
into the blatant wind
ruffled skirts
pink and green party dresses
and they bury
their heads
crimson with shyness
they blush
at putting on such
a brazen show.

August 12, 2011

Ode to tears

He cried
for the first time
in decades
in bed
just before
he died.
It was exquisite
he whispered
to her
I never realized
my heart

August 11, 2011

His black socks

She sorts his black
socks into a pile
on the bed
pairs them up
just like they do in the store
rolling the tops

He often says he can’t believe
she loves him that much
she would hunt
for each matching sock
that when he opens his
sock drawer
and there they are
perfect sets of woollen lumps
he is astounded
every time
at his good fortune.

It was inevitable
she would love him
but the ritual
of reuniting
his black socks
is more about her
than him.

In a perplexing world
it is soothing
to erase five minutes of the day
with her hands
inside the warm tubes of fabric
looking for matching patterns
a mild puzzle
she knows
she will solve.

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