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      May 21, 2018Indian BeautyYamini Pathak

      My friend visits India for the first time
      For the first time he sees a boy
      defecating on the street
       
      He is disappointed, he announces 
      the beaches were littered with vendors
      trying to make a fast buck
      cheating foreigners, selling cheap trinkets
       
      This is truth and I am quiet
      Indian beauty is like the snow leopard 
      in high Himalayan passes
      She vanishes in the heat of a direct gaze
       
      In the slant of early sun that rests on ancient stone 
      you can find Her
       
      In the dawn of an urchin’s smile
      In the timeless shift of prayer beads in wrinkled hands
      In the slide of patterned fabric against the slow sway of hips
       
      She rises and falls from vision
      In all that is held sacred—and much is held sacred—
      books and trees, water and dust from the feet of a teacher
      tales heard in the flute of a grandmother’s voice
      smoke from a sandalwood fire
       
      Like the curlicues of henna that snake up a bride’s ankles
      She is visible only to a lover’s eyes

      from #59 - Spring 2018

      Yamini Pathak

      “I am an Indian-American mother, poet, and freelance writer. I moved to the United States almost twenty years ago and became a citizen last year. Many of my poems are an exploration of the cultural no man’s land between my birth and adopted countries, where I often find myself. Some are based on questions that were bothering me at the time the poem was written. Writing helps me clarify, if not resolve questions about home and identity. Mostly, I write because I am irritable and impossible to live with if I don’t.”

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