India bore a baby girl with two faces
worshipped, as a reincarnation of a goddess

living an impossible sheltered life
cradled with two curly infant mouths
fleshed together in a poignant smile of Indian culture
she is a bundle of joy

fused
through ancient hungry superstitions,
an incarnation of ancestral worship
baby face
one sucking her thumb and the other mewing softly

you are truly a myth alive
like a white marble maiden sculpted on her own sarcophagus
beatings of the wind pluck my nostrils like a harp
the harmony, of pregnancy, in the birth of a child

‘Lali’ you name her, with elated conscious
in the palm of your hand
is beauty of your native soil
materializing itself before her eyes

you are proud; parents
to expose her to this age of reason; to me
beautiful eyelashes blinking, all four, at once

but i can’t help but wonder
if she’ll grow up as a house divided
will she forsake the umbilical cord she fed from?

the macabre lens of the media,
shiver as their heads bow in grief, they (want to) see
a poor lacerated body that looks as if
it might like to be crucified, God bless! God bless! God bless!

your father bowing his head in grief; his soul
ashamed shivering like a bell tolling for the dead
he simmers down into the faith of your mother
in the face of your daughters
afraid but then accepting
the hairy bellybutton cheek like a plumb pillow

i bite my lip at your imperfections
but cannot help but twist my flesh
you are blushing as any apple all the same
goddess human being in the form of infancy

you are their icon of self-indulgence
the flat feet and bosom of Hinduism
prevailing without yellow Buddhist palms
alive today

they shake the palm of your shawl wagging
burdened with a thousand fingerprints of
family rivals, friends, foes, and majesties
all digging for miracles like wingless rain