An American Question

“Are you and your daughter close?”
Some warm afternoon when white hands clutch
A cold glass
Someone will ask
And I will remember:
Knowing the syllables of your name
Mee-Rah
How they fell like silver anklets in a quiet room
Before I ever knew the fall of your
Feet striking clay in disbelief of gravity
As red hot air balloons rose around me
Around us I would realize
Clutching my belly with each stride
And you inspired would
Swell in me like a greedy mango
Lapping up monsoon rains and I
Greedily searched for your soft pulses
Your knees and palms skittering across
A wide expanse of brown
Earth that you are and I am your
Bridge across (sub)Continents
So that you will not forget what it is
To have fingers saffron-stained from milk sweets
Crush cardamom with
Stones my own mother laid in two lands
Grief she could not return
And instead set in my
Tongue I am not speaking
But pressing the hard rahs rounded ōs
Into your still soft palate like
Seeds pressed into soil
Husked hope I press
Against my chest each evening
Your father and I run our fingers over your
Cheek so smooth we can scarcely believe it is flesh
Let alone our own
Breath yours then mine
Yours then mine
Spaced in even intervals
I remember your first
You will remember my last because
Yes. We are close.

Megana Dwarakanath is in her final year of medical training in Pittsburgh, where she loves learning from young people and spending time with her husband, daughter, and dog.