While I alone imbibe our wine
relaxed, reclined, defying the whine
of our star-crossed symphony:
As brittle limbs shatter
that were bent for years
to canopy a homey habitat
that evolved me, as
broken storm door,
in windy furiosity
like a flag unfurls,
My new dog crated under the stairs,
is afraid of the train that passes by my house
as once I foolishly made him stand still to watch.
He hasn’t accepted that the train is constrained,
unlike the storm, which drives where it will,
incomprehensible gale by gale
(I sometimes sense anachronistic insinuations
and wonder–whence all your prejudice?)
I want you to know where I dwell is not
the train, unstoppable, unapproachable,
and trapped in time,
though echos of my culture haunt the land.
Superstitions betray the influence of the great generation,
opinionated patriots with insistent icons.
When I curse you with urgent hell-fire certainty
I don’t mean to break you with Holy Ghost spell.
Your individual pride is inalienable here.
I think you revert to status or caste,
but I am your woman.
And if cultures translate I’d rate me a Brahman.
Destiny is happiness, in ruin’s seed
Harmony derived in storms we choose to breed.
Don’t look for a track for you and me.