A Time to Dance(87)

            and walk downstairs to the Subramaniams’ apartment,

            my legs no longer hidden.


Shobana gazes at my outfit and gives me a thumbs-up sign,

            though her mother purses her lips.

            Mrs. Subramaniam probably finds my skirt too short

            but at least she doesn’t say so.

            And she nods enthusiastically

            when I invite Shobana upstairs.


Chandra offers to play henna artist.

            “Birthday girl, which hand

            would you like me to paint first?”

            I sit in Paati’s wicker chair.

            Stretch out my legs.

            “Feet first, please?”


She paints identical patterns on both feet,

            from the tips of my toes to below my ankles.

            When she’s done, my feet look exactly alike,

            covered with curly jasmine creepers,

            hearts, lines, flowers, stars, spirals, circles.


That night, I reach under the covers.

            Stroke the skin of my residual limb.

            My C-shaped scar is smooth to the touch.

            And it’s shrunk into a crescent

            thin as the last sliver of the waning moon.





SKIPPING STONE





I pause by the gate of Kamini’s home.

            Through a window, I see her

            racing through a set of steps,

            her blouse dark with sweat.

            She is a pebble skipping

            over the surface of a lake.

            As I once was.

            Not a deep sinking stone that leaves widening ripples behind

            after it’s disappeared.

            As I hope to be.


I knock and Kamini answers the door.

            “I came to thank you, Kamini.

            For remembering my birthday.

            For visiting me in the hospital.

            It was so nice of you.

            I’m sorry I never—”


“Not nice,” Kamini interrupts.

            “I did a horrid thing.

            After you won that competition, I . . .”

            She chokes up, then continues.

            “I prayed something would happen so you

            could never dance again.

            But I never thought—I never wanted—

            I’m so very sorry.”


“You did what?” I say.

            Kamini flinches

            as though I hit her.


I didn’t think anyone

            could be that spiteful.

            But it takes courage

            to confess something like that.

            I put my hand on her elbow.

            “Do you really think

            bad things happen