Parents

I see you both in the light dazzling, spectacular and breathing deep. Not like in snores but like in excited inhales of a new day. Your silhouettes appear as distant stars, cosmically inherent . I see you. I see you both in your favorite clothes. A slender woman in silk magenta and pistachio sari and lean man in a tweed jacket with woolen pants. Mom you are laughing with your head back in full abandon. Always a trusting child. And papa, you seem to be thinking of some ideas for your next novel. I try to capture you in my poem, but the notebook slips and falls with a heavy heart at the meeting of the mountain skirts.

Ice canopies float around and the sun and moon snooze together in the igloo. Their union is kind of magical like the times you both cared for each other when sick. Flowers are growing from clouds and butterflies whisper in my ears. Trees are walking about, and dirt is flying incognito. Your words are being hummed by ripples in the water and I am very thirsty. It seems like a portal I can walk through, but my hands hit an invisible fence. I turn around with my tears snuggling under my arms and walk back. Hands of my feet frantically tug on the heart of my shoe strings. “Try again. Try again.” They pester like elves in Santa’s shop wanting to make more toys. I fly instead to the boat in the water which looks like a tiny island and fix my eyes on the brilliant light.