04.15.09/Miss

04.15.09

I bite my nails
they taste like chili peppers
and fear

A dead kite dangles
from the grapevine
remnant of last October

Neighbors peel
carrot, radish, cucumber
vegetable rainbows

I have nothing to say to you,
Quiet Afternoon

Miss

Someday, I will miss fresh mangoes. Cilantro, juicy tomatoes, year round. I will miss the winter sun, the summer rain. I will miss the mountains around me, the flowers spilling over gated gardens. The scent of potatoes frying in mustard oil, the symphony of pressure cookers, pots & pans, puja bells. I will miss the slowness, the unruliness, the inclusiveness of the Nepali people. Turmeric-stained fingers, garlic-scented kitchens, tikka-stained foreheads and feet...these I will miss.

I must remember what it will be like...afterward. The reverse culture shock. I will not survive without these reminders.