Coming Home
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I reached Mumbai on a cloudy
morning that year
the familiar skyline, waves
lapping against the shore at
Chowpaty beach,
a sunny morning on the
swing in my balcony,
fragrance of papayas
splash of red Gulmohur flowers,
unyielding honking of traffic
potholes and litter at every step
my mother's homemade pickles
her sewing machine parked
in the same bedroom corner
for last fifty years
my father's neatly organized stack of shirts
roses and curry leaf plants
that he proudly tends
closets that I shared with my sisters
chairs we used to study together
now back home in Boulder to my house
perched gracefully on a corner lot
butterfly bushes with purple flowers
the immaculate lawn
the new lavender bush that sprouted
under an endless clear blue sky
the patch of sun that
streams through my bedroom window, coffee
mug that I bought from San Diego
I was Home, I am Home now
I have walked a quiet long road
bridging the valley between the two paths
that I continue to walk
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Coming Home
Poems of Remembering
By Jessica Shah
Burden
bones on his brown back
line up evenly like the steps of an escalator
with every step forward
they swell up with
no expectation
red cotton turban
hangs down his neck
bare feet
cut and bruised
tattered white dhoti pants
flap around loosely
like a flag in the wind on a temple post
he pants loudly
through the jumble of noises
the hand rickshaw with its
rusty iron bars
rattles in the hot sun
he snakes through the crowded street
around bodies packed
lung to lung,
cows loitering
he heaves, panting
running, pulling people
poverty that does not
run off his spine
like sweat
LEAVING Poems of Motherhood
By Jessica Shah
Arms, at Length
you were a tiny bundle
I remember, you in my arms,
you crawled up my chest soon after you took your first breath
I had waited impatiently for you to arrive
you had made a dramatic entrance
when you were born
we could not contain ourselves
we held you, rocked you in our arms
you felt so light but filled us up
years have flown by since I felt you
in my arms all bundled up, swaddled
my arms circled around you, all these years
when you wore that purple raincoat and
we splashed in puddles
in the rain under the umbrella
on that spring day
when we hiked to the summit
in Steamboat Springs
my arms hurt, carrying you
you held big plump earthworms in your hands at preschool,
dug them out from the holes, let them
crawl all over your arms
your arms carried skis, walking in the snow for your ski lesson
so troubled by the effort of it all
you held Nutmeg and Silky
your guinea pigs in the nook of your arms
cradled books that you loved
stacked in your arms
before I knew you turned eighteen
I worked hard to help you put on your wings
slowly teaching you to leave the nest,
to stretch your arms, transform them
but you held on to my arms
with all your might
not wanting to leave
you struggled, holding on to my ever outstretched arms,
the comforts of your nest too warm
I did not make an attempt to let you go either
tried, but unwilling to let you go
knowing that you were born from me
but not of me,
that to keep you
tangled in my cocoon
to shelter you from the full blown onslaught of those
winds will be an impossibility
one day you did fly,
that too with lightening speed
the cord snapped
the inevitable
breaking, weakening
pulling and pushing
cracking open from your own self
you emerged
inching out, extending
hovering, fluttering,
I feared you will burn yourself
you jump in regardless,
when you so readily dive into the flame
now always keeping me at arm’s length,
a distance I will never bridge
you will fly on your own
wings fully engaged
without holding
thrusting forward
not looking back