one day

sweat sits on yr skin in the bus, u flinch at the crunch of bodies that means another arm slippery with hot sticky moisture touching yours, you cannot believe it is only early morning and already the heat has descended like a steam room in open air.

the small man skulks, lurks, squints thru his eyes at us waiting before the dance school, squints at jody ann trying to read what is written in her blond(ish) hair and pale eyes, hovering like a bee unsure if it is flower or plastic. what to do? ignore, keep on in loud american voices.

cool and shady, the fans spin on above us and the lilt of mirabai bhajans rises scratchy out of the old boom box to fill the space between these peeling, crusty old walls. the mice scratch away across the floor to hide behind the harmonium, a baby lizard crawls across my path, and the sweet cadence of mira's song carries our feet across the floor, our hands thru the air.

it is bummy afternoon, and it is me in the bathroom with a bucket full of soaked-up sudsed-up clothing. i dream now of washing machines, or alternately, laundry-men that don't wear my clothing out faster in the washing than i do in wearing them. the resident lizard pokes his head out from his hiding place and stares at me with his black gumball eyes. after giving up on getting any more dirt out, i rinse rinse rinse hang out dripping things on a clothesline and settle down for a newspaper reading, my door open out onto the open-air corridor.

standing out there, leaning beyond barrier and looking out into the courtyard, i can feel the evening breeze brushing up into my face from the enclosed garden, our own little cloister, with its smiling sunflowers all atremble with the approach of coolness and night.