Postcards to the Other Brown Girl in My Weightlifting Class
Let’s say the word
saffron out loud, say
sari—do you see me
as a slut, or a good girl?
I do not want to ask,
where are you from—
your friend beside you
is tan, freckled, pearls
at her ears, a silver
cross at her throat.
*
Does your mother show
you pictures of eligible
bachelors from Jaipur,
Mumbai, Canada? Does
your kitchen house unused
monuments of your mother’s
immigrant heart: packets
of mixed spices, canisters
of rice, discarded coconuts?
*
If I must be the hand
pressed against the window,
let there be saltwater waiting
below, docked ships for
sidewalks. Let wounds be
wounds, let the water we
sip from nozzled bottles be
gods and goddesses crashing through
each other: Vishnu, Shiva, Allah.
*
I want to be each mirror lining
the walls, to find you beside me,
meeting my eyes—I do not want
to give myself—I want to be stem,
stamen, petal, not blossom, not bloom—
źródło: Read A Little Poetry
10.09.2026