Someone in my Home
Someone is in my home
They enter the front door, stepping into the dark
And do not notice me
They take off our shoes, worn leather, placing them with mine
In the unneat row of shoes beneath the yarn cabinet.
He picks up my sweater,
Thick cotton, saffron’d yellow and slips it over our head
The kettle is warmed,
Tea is poured–tendrils of cardamom, rose, and cinnamon rising–
And wander the narrow hall, into my strange room.
Placing themself on our–my–bed
He begins to read
I notice it is my hand holding the book, purple cover, black & white photo
Faiz Ahmed Faiz, in Urdu and English side by side
I feel its dry warmth, and he turns the wispy page.
We whisper prose together,
I coax us to the dining table remembering flowers and love
We use each other’s hands to light a candle,
Warm flame casting its amber hue, pouring wine
Let us whirl as dervishes to the santoor from the red Crosley.
Turning around
In the soft dimming light, our shadows painting the walls
Nighttime stars enter the room
From the window to the left
We look at each other in the crackled mirror, and see we are the same.