Poem: Slice of India

[Maria Grace]

The same year I came to America, 1997, I also visited India with my (now ex-) boyfriend. He was interested in Sri Aurobindo and he wanted me to check out Auroville, an intentional community in the South dedicated to Aurobindo’s principles to see if we might want to move there (I didn’t want to). India is the most amazing country I have ever been in. You can’t understand it with your mind. It’s a country where you have to surrender otherwise you might be killed in a traffic accident.

Remember: Poems should be read out loud!

SLICE OF INDIA

I bend down and hand them

a bag of potato chips.

The bundle of bodies

begins to stir.

It unfolds as a woman,

a man, and two

serious children.

The woman speaks harshly to me.

A fresh scar

marks her belly,

as if a sword had sliced her.

The man looks tired,

the children are dirty.

They live on the sidewalk.

A blanket sprawls beneath them.

A steel pot and some cups are

the borders of their territory,

lined on the far end by

a ragged brown dog who surrenders

to four puppies sucking her dry.

Next to the curb a small rivulet runs slowly.

Street people squat within sight.

While I stand there,

inhaling the chaos,

of Pondicherry,

an elephant

with painted ornaments

on his gentle face

moves majestically past me

touching my crown with his trunk

in blessing.