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At a diplomatic gathering
an ambassador’s wife
smiles sweetly
as I’m introduced as a poet

(a term I’ll always wear
like a size 14 dress
on my size 8 frame)

I smile back
hoping I can talk about the weather
the cricket world cup final
which we might win
or the war
which no one will

but her next question’s one of
mild surprise
“you write in English?”
and my smile turns
for a reason that can’t find its voice
in poetry or prose
so I nod a diplomatic yes
and grab a drink from
a passing tray.

(April, 2007) - From Stitch Your Eyelids Shut
Posted by Borrowed Dust at 3:10 PM Labels: English writing in South Asia, identity, poetry, Stitch your eyelids shut, writing in a colonial language

