Snow Dance
Snow Dance
Elizabeth
We were 13.
Your Girlhood heart wouldn't grow
into your blooming body.
But, I still write to you.
As you know.
I hope.
I'm wrapped in a white silk scarf as I write this one.
Your mom says that you were born in Tibet.
"The land of Snow"
but, that was 1959.
Your long trek in vanishing snow to Dharamsala
began the day you were born
Your mom says you were a thank you present from
his Holiness the Dali Lama himself,
for her work at the camp.
I always loved it when she came to this part,
her eyes and her yes all holy like Mary
"He handed her to me wrapped in a ceremonial white silk
scarf and said, "Here is your daughter."
while the monks chanted the Heart Sutra
Om gate gate paragate parasamgate bodhi sahva...
You told me that we were going to be best friends forever.
We lit a candle in our secret fort in the birch grove
holding an embroidery needle to a match flame
before pricking our thumbs and rubbing them together
saying, "Blood sisters forever" for watching some movie with
indians who did that.
Not the indians, like the ones you lived with in in the winter
but those ones in cowboy and indian films.
Indian summer meant you coming home to me with sari's and
bangle dancing hands and ankles
you twirled and laughed about everything
Manipuri mirth
When I moved to the mountains, you wrote to me asking.
"Where will you sleep in the snow?"
"Under many quilts, I said."
Perhaps
you know now what it is to sleep under quilts in the land
of snows
For now, it is summer again.
I mentioned I'm wrapped in a
white silk scarf, about
to present myself to my mother
hoping
my girlhood heart will outgrow my fading body made
lighter
for mingling my blood with the dance that was you.
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