White Saris

for my son

What I knew of their house
was a blue garage door,
kicked-in at the middle.
A buckling dent.

You approach a scene like that
with caution. It takes time
to know whether to pause
or hurry, head down.

Their glowing white saris
on this grey marble day.
Outside the buckled
door, a station wagon, black.

I was thinking of you. How you
will find out. The black suit
you will wear. How the feel
of your best white shirt could hurt.

How silk might hang
in a cold wardrobe. I pushed
you through those people.
I pushed you along the road.

Listen to the poem