Morning at Bani's House

by abracadabra   Oct 14, 2011


First, I hear the curtains drawn back. Next,
the door's distant creak and the rustle
of sari, crushed from a night's sleep,

against smooth, mosaic floors to the kitchen.
The gush of water, the clunk on the stove
and then that long silence before

the gurgling whistle, sharp and sudden.
There, in that pause, I imagine the view
outside the diamond-grilled window:

the light is gray, the street damp with monsoon,
and stray dogs search for scraps in gutters.
The smell of smoke and rotting fruit is only

faint on this misty morning that
wavers a moment before the coming day.
Even now, as the slow shuffle of footsteps

at last come to wake me with hot milk tea,
with my blankets to my chin and legs stretched straight,
I like to think of your still face at the kitchen window-

white hair crimped from its nightly plaits, old skin
smelling like cold cream, faded brown eyes

gazing at a scene of 60 years,
waiting for the kettle to boil.

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Latest Comments

  • 12 years ago

    by BlueJay

    This piece is amazing. It is so well written.I love this. Word choice is amazing and so is the flow. Excellent job, and I love this.

  • 12 years ago

    by sibyllene

    Abby, you need to spread out the posting of your poems so that I can properly vote on all of them, as they deserve, without being TOO obvious.

    Of course, of course, I tried to convince myself that I didn't technically "know" that you wrote these poems for the contest. Scientifically, I didn't know. But let's be honest, it was pretty dang obvious, as they all make my toes tingle and my heart clench, and they all make me write overly dramatic comments on them. Anyway.

    As I said in the contest, this poem is wonderful at capturing moments through all the senses. Instead of detailing each thing with full precision, you snatch a couple of powerful images and they sort of... fill in the moment for you, and make them more real than they would have had you described everything. A great example of this was "the street damp with monsoon, / and stray dogs search for scraps in gutters." It had very little, technically, to do with whatever was going on in the house... but it DID, really. Mood is everything.

    I'm blathering. This is why I don't comment on poems.

  • 12 years ago

    by Sunshine

    Everything about you is extraordinary,and as much as some will think my comment is out of place, short, or a sign of exaggeration..as much as i dnt care :P

    for i have no words to say how much i love ur work, and how much i loved this poem, i just adore it, i love the title, makes me feel like @ home for a reason. i llove the story, the emotions u know, and the pinky page! i love ur closing line..

    just very special Abby..

    welll done

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