A Time to Dance(17)

            a little less ugly.





VISITORS





Chandra visits wearing a wobbly smile,

            with her wet-cheeked ma

            and her pa, who clutches her ma’s shoulder

            for support.


I watch Chandra walk across the green tile floor,

            her strong, muscular cricket-captain legs gliding toward my bed.

            She takes no notice of where slopes and cracks

            hinder a wheelchair ride.


Chandra says,

            “Can’t wait for you to get on the cricket field.”

            I don’t care about cricket.

            All I want is to dance again.

            She should know.

            She tries, “The whole team’s waiting for you to get back.”

            —A polite lie I never expected

            to hear from my best friend.

            I hardly ever spoke to anyone on the team except Chandra.

            She says, “I miss you in class, too.”

            I say thanks.

            Our conversation totters

            close to the cliff of silence.

            Keels over.


Chandra says, “See you

            later.”

            Not see you

            soon.


I try to lift my eyes to meet hers.

            But my gaze stays low

            and follows her quick, sure steps

            across the uneven floor.


After she leaves, though I shut my eyes,

            I can’t stop picturing

            the ease

            of her walk.





STAYING AWAY





Uday anna

            doesn’t visit.


He’s fine, Pa says, when I ask.

            No one else was badly hurt.

            Except the driver, who died.


After ten years of seeing Uday anna

            every day after school,

            I can’t believe he doesn’t miss me

            enough to visit

            once.

            Tomorrow he’ll come, I keep thinking.

            Tomorrows come and go.

            He sends a card:

            “With wishes for a complete recovery.”

            As if I could ever be

            complete

            with one leg half gone.


His absence shows

            he thinks I’m too crippled to dance again.

            I tear up his card.


I’ll show Uday anna.

            Sooner than he thinks,

            I’ll be back in his classroom,

            back in competition,

            back on my own feet.


Or rather,

            back on my own

            one

            foot.