Lessons in Bending

At the tiniest scratch in my throat,

Ma boiled basil leaves in water,

added shredded ginger bits, crushed peppercorns,

and honey, made me drink

this mix first thing in the morning.

         Here, the morning starts with the wake-up call,

         “The walkway is open for 10 minutes, Ladies.”

         We line up in the hall to get the trays—I drink the milk, eat the toast,

         and give the rest away. No one has the time to prepare

         anything else for a vegetarian—sometimes, I get peanut butter

          in a cup. I don’t gag at the eggs-sausage-burger smell anymore.

The blue shirt tucked into pants piped with red on the sides

enshrouds me as I cut soaps and fix heels in the factory.

The pay is the highest, so I ignore

my watering-through-fumes eyes

that make the soap bars blur like large snowflakes.

         The day I landed in America, the town was in the news for

         “Worst snow of the season.” I could understand the words

         if spoken loudly and many times,

         but my voice remained suspended

         like the veil around my face.

They said, “Whatever you say can and will be used against you,”

when they saw the ropes and the knife and the blood.

They asked, “what happened? speak up.”

How could I? I had been taught my whole life

to be quiet and obey—first my parents, then my

brother, then my husband and in-laws.

         At first, I used to dream I was in a movie,

         and the hero would trot into the hall on a white horse,

         whose hooves would mark the floor that I buffed

         for three hours every day for a month, and take me away,

         and I would once again dance to the dhak-dhak

         of the dhols during festivals and win the Best Dancer trophy.

The rare visits I get are “Bend forward

till I can see your coochee and cough” bordered

days that make me shrivel like the tortoise back home.

I have stopped dreaming and know now

                                                   that no one will come to save me.