That Green Hard Bound Book
The book had a hard bound green cover
It sat in your study
The title read 바카라˜Anton Chekhov바카라™s Short Stories바카라™
I was in middle school
On a lazy autumn afternoon
I found the book or the book found me
Every story hit hard,
Characters and plot lines circling in my mind for days
As I waited for the school bus in the morning and the girls around me giggled about boys,
I began nodding evasively,
My thoughts jerking me back to the stories,
sending me pondering over morality and perception, opinions and ideals, love and expectation
Some days, I wondered if I had read the stories a little prematurely perhaps but
That didn바카라™t hold me back from rereading the book
바카라˜What do you think of the book,바카라™ you asked me one day
There was a lot that I wanted to say, many questions that I wanted to pose but I chose to do the teenage thing바카라”say a disyllabic word
바카라˜Something,바카라™ I said and waved my hand
You arched your brows and let it go
The truth was 바카라˜Something바카라™ implied a lot of things바카라”
the book changed me바카라”
I became aloof and kind
Eager and reluctant
Brave and cautious
Independent and constrained,
The dichotomy at the heart of it is still as bewildering as it was back then
Your green hard bound book comes to stare at me at uncertain times
Thank you for letting me read it,
for inspiring me to seek a different way of being
Summer is a poem
In my mind
It바카라™s always summer
I am wearing a sun dress and
Slurping on lemonade
Sunshine on my face
Sand in my hair
Why must I crave June in January?
Is it a latent wish to
Fast forward to goals,
Conjure euphoria before its time,
Slide prematurely to new realities?
I haven바카라™t an answer
Jacaranda blooms unfold in my head one bud after another
Rippling forth in irresistible symphonies
Swiftly changing hues from
Lilac to lavender to violet
A purple promise circling the air
Summer is a poem after my heart
Belated Thank you
You said I reminded you of women in a particular set of paintings from a particular period in history바카라”long-haired, feminine, imaginative
You meant it to be a compliment
Of course, you did, but conceit had the better of me
I didn바카라™t agree, convinced as I was then that I was one of a kind
Today someone else likened me to the women in the paintings and
Mellowed as I am by time and seasons, I smiled and lapped up the adulation
A bunch of wild pansies winked at me from the sidewalk
I leaned over them and whispered you a belated 바카라˜Thank you바카라™
(Simrita Dhir lectures at the University of California, San Diego, and is the author of acclaimed novels The Rainbow Acres and The Song of Distant Bulbuls.)
