Spring 1992 • Vol. XIV No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 1992 |

Devi

Her father is your father; my aunt your eldest sister, Devi, meaning light. Eight twenty-two karat bangles ring on her wrist as she inches between her bed, the basin, a drawstring pouch of village gold. Incense smears from her feet on the floor spreading prayers like spores, bangles chinking to and fro. When I arrived in Bombay, she was waiting for me on a cot setting like a cup of milk. And I remember this: that she was serene, speaking only one language, oiling her hair for holidays and prayers, pressing her silk on me, my comfort; keeping the temple flame lit amid garlands; and living up to her name.

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Underground

By Reetika Vazirani

Her father is your father; my aunt your eldest sister, Devi, meaning light. Eight twenty-two karat bangles ring on her wrist as she inches between her bed, the basin, a […]

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