Mai

I put a river on fire
with wishes
like White flashes
these black Gangetic puddles aflame
with
my thousand, thousand desires.

A hull--
molten,
goldswept,

with
swirls that velvet
Being.

Ten toes,
now cold
with

stripes of
mehendi receding
green, orange, yellow.

Do new mothers ever love
like old?

Still wishing,
...I comb her black waves

with

fingertips numbed

finding stars in curves
of dark, black, unending
curls.

My fingertips wet
I miss
mama’s angry old comb
scraping my
young, little girl neck.