Erin Beckett wasn't scared of most things. She loved roller coasters, and she was the designated bug killer at home—even with three older brothers. When the offense of the other team came speeding ... [+]
The sun shines differently in India, warmth burning around me like I'm a candle wick, a baby swaddled
in a quilt blanket, and a lotus flower
whose roots are enveloped by water soil.
I feel peace like I'm woven between the threads of silk sarees, pushed by Ganga's tide, and carved into the thousand pillars of stone temples.
I hold my Ammamma's hand, full of wrinkles and softer than silk, her cool breath against my forehead, eyes bright and unseeing, and I know I'm hers.
The red Indian fire lives in both of us.
in a quilt blanket, and a lotus flower
whose roots are enveloped by water soil.
I feel peace like I'm woven between the threads of silk sarees, pushed by Ganga's tide, and carved into the thousand pillars of stone temples.
I hold my Ammamma's hand, full of wrinkles and softer than silk, her cool breath against my forehead, eyes bright and unseeing, and I know I'm hers.
The red Indian fire lives in both of us.