Holi, part three [poem]

fuuuuuuuck you, spirit speaker
the mind turned off you say, and still
bedroom photo wall with you and Ferrari and female form and framed
achievement from European schools
next to Buddha, and boddhisatva
        do you see?
        do you see the what the fuck, the #horriblebeautyofitall?
your mother, your wife
caring for me as I craved to care for you
judging me, curious, cynical with pity, and seeing

my son cried after eating soap in your shower
as I rinsed green paint from my hair
head back in the cool water stream
bliss came for a moment, in the scream

i wonder if your wife poisoned me
in stress, and surrender, i soften my already lightening hands
hand over my child to your queen
just as I gave my heart to you, with longing, loss, and
a silent plea for help

there you are dancing, drinking, again,
with the salon curtains closed
        you prance into the parlor
        showing me your smile, I smile
        your skin, barney purple paint on brown
your wife, laughs in her ownership
your mother, hands you a shirt

the hours pass, I sleep beneath photos of your father
your grandfather, next to my son, with neither
you sleep in a walk-in closet
is this the norm, for you, for us, I dream, we wake

you sit in a circle of men, cousins
these men eating sugar, drinking chai
talking of choosing a wife for the youngest god amongst you

        isn’t that just too sweet…
        you joke, should we choose a wife for your son
        why not? I laugh. Can you hear my hatred
        and jealousy within this idea?

bearing uncomfort no longer
feeling alone in india for the first time
here, many months of settling, rising
strong, I flee drooling son on my knee, rooftop offers space to breathe

        empath, i am breathing
        neon parakeets in trees
        pigeons on the pillar, a pair
        i watch them mate for the first time
        so open, fast
        then pause for two minutes alone to fluff feathers
        take care of themselves, become bigger

I retreat and again busy my time with your wife
your friends new wife, pregnant, covers her face
when you walk in the room
you, patriarch, who lost your wallet in your celebrations
and left me hanging with the women, behind the curtain

        I ask to leave, immediately you find your keys
        perhaps also seeing a way out, or finally seeing me out
        comfort in the exit, alone at my side

I have that repeating thought from days long since known to me
’ll never fit in, ever, maybe never, here, maybe nowhere
Numb and silent, and still there is relief

On the back of your bike, my son sandwiched between our pelvises
Feverish head under curls, his hat and shoes lost on this day
You search for speech, more seconds with me
        I pass up the doctor, the diapers
        Your hint at dinner
        Too much, all too much, I’ve had enough

past the laxmi temple, you swerve
near the shiva temple, you stop outside our home

whiskey in your eyes, I try to meet you, but cannot
you look at my son, unable to meet me, i cannot

        love you, and still
        i see myself stronger in solidarity
        knowing that you, gurujj
        are also not enlightened as much
        no, moreso not, than me

I hold my son and turn my back and walk away

       i’m in the home you gave to me

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