A.M. of Vijayadashami

shadows of a dozen feet perambulated, trapping

the gushing air between their brisk gait

sisters, aunts and uncles toiled in animation to please Her

the perfume of incense sticks had dominated the olio

of what cooked on the kitchen stove, as the boisterous children

ran the lengths of the washed marble floors;

I love this air, these people, their idea of coterie I supposed

in that same moment, I saw my mother, in the pooja

seated erect, with hands assembled in front of her chest

her eyes like closed wisdom-eyes, her ring finger

holding her idea of numen against her palm

she prayed in equanimity;

maybe this is what it is to be Her I declared.

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