Previously published in
“The Beacon Street Review.”

Dadi

Someday I will
visit the red-dusted
scavenger city named
Bombay
I will watch the
ayas beat the
saris clean and
lay them upon
the beaches of the
Indian Ocean 
I will hear the
goats grazing upon  
the garbage and
lie beneath the
dark tendrils of
the Banyan tree
listening for
Mamaji’s call to
dinner. 
Most of all
I go to say
good-bye to you 
To my wrinkled
troll dressed in
her worn cotton saris
A wool shawl spread over
soft shoulders during
a hot Indian summer.
The Bhagavad Gita in
one brown hand and
sandalwood prayer beads
clutched in the other. 
Happy when
a buttery papaya is
found for morning tea
And her children surround
her like fallen cherry
blossoms from a tree
All I ask is
when your ashes were
scattered 
Where did you go?