the revolving door of days

    Now it's over

    There's no one point thank god in the turning world

    I was always moving

    tired too but laughing

    To be a widow is an old

    freedom I have known

    vidua paradisea    a bird

    Singly I flew

    and happiness was my giraffe

    in the face of Africa

    me among daughters

    and my son at work

    me pregnant with them

    taking in the glamour days

    town and country mirabella elle vogue

    cosmopolitan    We have made this world

    brown  these beautiful women

    laughing and crying till we cleared the dining table

    In hotels men asked my girls to fetch them towels

    In restaurants they asked us for bread

    Today I'm a civil servant on the Hill

    From the Mall what colorful sarongs

    my children bring to drape my ankles

    the gifts we give

    to Mina a necklace of Mikimoto pearls

    Tara a Paloma purse for cosmetics

    Lata a pair of lime shoes for the miles

    Devi gives me her eclectic lit eyes

    the glamour of our wilder regions

    Bombay weavers on the twenty-four hour looms

    shocking pink is the navy of India

    Listen I am listening

    my mind is a trip

    I flew over oceans

    I flew in the face of skies

    orienting my loss of caste

    my dark complexion

    the folly of envy

    wishing all my life to be fair

    My jealous god leaves

    Hello son this is your mother

    Daughters take these maroon saris

    these maroon bras

    I am proud to have borne you

    When you gather around me

    newness comes into the world