for coconut oil, for banana chips,
for the man who shakes my hand every time I see him on the street;
and trees and tuberose petals,
and the Nancy Drew books peeking dog-eared
out of my students’ knapsacks,
and fountain pens.
for duas and lime-colored parakeet birds,
cartons of strawberries, tin-foil balloons,
and mountains on mountains of promises,
offered and kept.
for dusty Hindi radio, Rani Maa,
that the toddler sucks from her fingers,
for bucket baths and the sway of the rain,
and surely, if there is a Heaven on Earth, it is here,
it is here, it is here.
this is my inventory of joy,
glory be for mango juice, and postage stamps,
and every night I go to sleep knowing your day
is just beginning, new and sweet and full of hope.