Till there were no stars

In the dream, the devis were different—

dancing with arms out, breasts

to the wind, glorious. It was so obvious

they owned the earth.

Who could have created them?

Each one laughing larger

than the other, echoes like shots

fired to the horizon, remarkable blue

of expansion. No tree in sight, the night

then nothing. Me and my girlfriends

paused at the clearing. Hands by our thighs,

eyes blinking. We could not believe it.

Did our mothers know? Did our grandmothers?

The devis in their temples were small—

hands laden with food or flowers.

And where were the gods—the husbands?

Where were the children? Were we allowed

such freedom? We were dressed

for our class 12 farewell party,

our mothers’ favorite sarees,

hot pink and jazz, ready for the world

under the Saket mall, the stuffy basement

of mocktails and men’s armpits.

Could we stay? Here, in this vision?

DJ devi yelled to the others—Come on!

She swerved and the circle expanded.

Our hair was itchy. In we melted,

copying their steps, mirroring

their breaths, our long singing necks.