mother's having her migraines
& i am sharing her insomnia
in hopes of lessening it.
there's a sudden pattering,
rain pouring & pouring
over puja ghar in ropes,
rattling the tin awning,
probing & collecting family toes,
enough water to allay all mats
& mops of recent memory.
idle gods guard their corners
& thunder is a boulder rolling.
that tree, that looming bastard
mango tree, its branches claiming
our acre of night light,
breeding aphids, orb weavers,
itchy tussock-moth caterpillars,
vines of predatory kinds, sheds
its weight upon us,
sheds more leaves than fruits.
father flings open the roof door,
daring the roar
with an umbrella.
mother & i reach for last storm's raincoats.
our torch dies
shuttering the 3 a.m murk,
steps wading in afterglow
of sudden dark & foot-deep water.
each lightning is an evening
lasting a second
in whose mercy
we grab at slits of drains,
at twigs, bugs, leaves
nested with weaver ants,
boils & pops of nothing.
blindly, buckets sail away from us.
our palms age in water.
mother shouts at father & me,
her voice a thunderclap
locating our shadows.
