By: Marie Kazalia wearing an Indian sari hair cut short red lipstick mouth riding a glittering bicycle life never so real as now foolish to be completely Western and stressed so I flew to Japan, lived there, India after 16 months of cool inner conflict everyone who thinks they know me see in my eyes think I'm in love ask little prying questions previous struggles mere preludes to this prelude strangely or nonsensical wheels of my bicycle spinning faster than possible emptying out a poisonous fluid trapped inside me like cool filthy standing water draining release valve finally discovered my eyes clear a different kind of powerful flying along pedaling in a dreamlike vision thru a bright cloudy sky passing others whose bicycles are constructed in all sorts of odd and different configurations By: Marie Kazalia the strangest sensation when that slender middle-aged couple approaching walking at a rapid pace deep in conversation man and woman gesturing hands with no fingers no noses talking faces smooth scars where once were appendages they stare at the white foreign woman standing amid street stench urine animals crowded with people-- not yet 10 a.m. already heat coming on hot-- sellers stalls scrawny thin poor beggars her healthy white midriff showing short blouse wrapped sari how odd to see amid all these brown... and smoking a cigarette yet lit from burning hemp at a tea stall where she stops the leper couple continues on energetic bodies wrapped in clean white cotton black water buffalo plod in opposite direction By: Marie Kazalia on the flat rooftop in the hot dry tropical sky me the only foreigner white woman amid brown as I try scrubbing my pink lace Dior demi-cup underwire bra on the black granite washing stone chiseled with texture to create a scrub board surface slanted laundry soap in a blue bar bucket of cold water Burning hot air--bright sun looking down at my own hands fumbling with my efforts trying yet stop in amazement at the moment stare into my mind the ridiculous incongruities in my life Living ways that make no sense to me or anyone else Yet that moment of the most powerful significance-- little Siva comes to my rescue just eighteen laughing at me giving a lesson in how to wash clothes in a bucket on a washing stone in the heat and poverty of inconvenience-- South India-- |