AT THE BHULESHWAR MARKET IN MUMBAI
In the market place
a woman pulls a cart
her scarves drag heavy
and her arms
become stones
young girls
run past her
their sandals parched
already tearing
at the seams
She doesn’t remember
the time when the
neck of the sky
turned itself to notice her
to cast its
blue
blue
self
upon her
small life
she knows
she is almost out of figs
she knows
she will probably return home
with a few small coins
she knows
she must go home
and make bread for dinner
she understands the amnesia
of this dark village
Glint Literary Journal 