My father carves with a pen
with the patience
inherited from his father,
sculpting scissors-over-comb
in a sweltering barber shop.
He backstitches turns of phrase
with the precision
inherited from his mother
paddling the sewing machine,
and the persistence
inherited from his brother
paddling a bicycle
to reach ஆள் அரவமற்ற குறிச்சி1
within அரவக்குறிச்சி2,
carrying letters to sun-crumpled,
half-remembered people.
This, too, is generational wealth.
when i write letters
to people i half-remember,
they crumple with the absence
of conviction.
i suffer the throes of labor,
yet miscarry the redemption.
My father dabbles in poetry,
i dabble in pain.
His footsteps sprout
into முருங்கை தோப்பு3
of childhood in கரூர்4.
Even in grief, his eyes hardly well up,
mirroring the well from which
he scooped water
by quarter-portions of a bucket,
because water doesn’t
cascade effortlessly in his world.
His tongue craves
மொச்சை கத்திரிக்காய் குழம்பு5
made in மண் சட்டி6,
his mother blowing into the fire,
smoke billowing, as he dances
a
r
o
u
n
d
her.
My father now sways
to the same rhythm in the kitchen,
the scents and spices
forbidden but never forgotten,
like the சேவல் சண்டை7 of his youth.
He teaches me to savor,
i only (s)wallow.
He drifts between both worlds,
the old dance of balance.
Continents and countries
are, to him, nothing
but dust storms
and rivers
and hide-and-seek.
They are what you arrive at
and inevitably leave.
This, too, is generational wealth, he says.
I gift you two worlds:
this dance, this arrival to yourself
regardless of the thousand
inevitable little leavings
you are forced to live through.
Remember,
home is the ocean within,
endless is the swimming.
Home is the ocean...
endless—
He bids me to swim
i sink anyway.
1Aal aravamattre kurichi – a desolate village
2Aravakkurichi – a village in Karur, Tamil Nadu
3Murunggai thoppu – Moringa orchard
4Karur – a city in Tamil Nadu, India
5Mocchai katthirikai kuzhambu – a broth made with black eyed peas and eggplant
6Mann chatti – clay cooking pot
7Sevval sandai – cock-fighting