So she ate the banana. Her hair
Is white. She says
Age is all in the mind.
My mother exclaimed: "That cup
Belongs to my kitchen."
"That spoon is mine," I insist.
The artist intercedes, mediates:
"The banana peel
should return
To that house
Since she provided
the fruit." We laugh,
pettiness resolved. Then
It is time for her to go home.
THE ARTIST
Sashikala came to visit
Yesterday. She said: Hello?
Anybody home? I had just made
Some green tea. We sat down
Beneath the jackaranda
Beneath the slight drip of rain
And we drank green tea
With honey. I told her
About pranayama and yoga.
She asked me if I had
Done it for a long time.
She asked me about
My nephew. Then my mother
Came and the two of them
Talked about the King's grandson.
I pulled weeds, and showed her
The tomatoes from Berlin.
She asked if we had any food.
Any new food? But all
We had was a banana.
