SUBRAMANIAM, Arundhati

Memo

Reaching for the summit,

but never forgetting coast —

the melancholy

of harbours by dusk,

women in summer dresses

on the streets of Nice,

the festive blaze

of vendors on Juhu beach,

evenings alive

with hope and buttered corn.

Never forgetting,

never forgetting even for a minute,

mean sea level.


Just in Case

My great grandmother stopped each day

at the St Alphonsa shrine

on Brodie’s Road in Madras.

Just in case

saints were a bit like

local goddesses–

extravagant and moody

Just in case

this miracle healer

of an infant’s club foot

could pardon

her unruly children’s trespasses

Just in case

a saint with a foreign name

was better

at blessing

a family that kept spilling

over definitions,

over borders

Just in case

Alphonsamma felt left out

when others surged

around the Murugan shrine.

Just in case

the elders were right

Just in case

the elders were wrong

And then we lost our great grandmothers

And we lost just in case

Give Thanks

for the chance

to wander into those caves

far from surf and gull-cry,

from cursing sailors

and salted air,

where we hear our own voices

saying the same thing,

echoing, garbled, borrowed,

reminding us

of files, dark and corrupted,

deep in the gelatin

of some forgotten software,

reminding us that the virus

has been around a very long time.