puja-shah

Just a little poem I wrote…not related to my story, but about sisters. And a little poetry here and there keeps the writing goddess in me happy

Sisters.

Like you I have our mother’s eyes,

Almond shaped,

but your’s have more brown in them than mine,

Like you I have our father’s nose,

Long and slender,

Like your long legs from our grandfather,

My broad shoulders from the same ancestor.

Like you I like reading novels,

You curled up in bed,

Flipping pages,

As I snuck a peak behind your bedroom door,

Just to see what you were reading.

Like you I love music,

But

Found my own beats, making me…

Different than you,

but

always

it was something I never wanted to be,

different than you.

I wanted

To laugh like you,

Smile and tilt my head back,

The way everyone around you loved to see you do.

I wanted to smell like you,

And sprayed your lilac perfume from your dresser when you weren’t home.

And then,

I started becoming less and less like you,

I liked patchouli instead of lilac,

Squinted my eyes when I laughed,

Like our grandmother, instead of you,

and I was

different than you.

But you crept up…

In my walk,

And someone would say, “You walk just like your sister, I thought it was her from behind”

Or the way we answered the phone,

“Is that you?”

They would ask on the other line.

“I thought…

You were your sister.”

And when you moved,

Far away,

I felt you near me,

Inside,

When I cried that night,

And you called me,

“Are you okay?” you asked,

“I was upset how did you know?”

“Just because…” you said.

You’re my sister, my heart knew.

A FINISHED STORY…

The pen stops,

and I think, that’s it?

Always

feels slightly sad,

like I am leaving an old friend.

I’ll miss this,

but

what’s nice is the memory

of what we went through

to get here.

Knowing

I can always

visit this story again

and again.

New wind blows gently with scents of you

Leaves change colors

Refreshing heart, soul, mind

It was you,

My first love,

who taught me what its like,

to feel comfort being in my own skin.

You taught me about culture,

with mommy’s Jewish boss and our Chinese neighbor,

with the Puerto Rican bodega on the corner,

and the Italian ice cream parlor where pops would give

me free ice cream floats.

 

You, my first love,

who taught me about my own roots,

with masala scents filling the air at dinner,

with nana telling us of historic epic poems from tapestries hanging in our home.

You, my love,

who showed me how to love dance,

with Navrati,

and love to find rhythm in praying to my goddesses,

With burgundy silk blouses,

and saffron and blue colored scarves,

I danced.

You showed me tranquility,

with my temple,

jasmine scented incense and red carpeting and coconut water juice I’d sip with my hands.

 

 

It was you who built my childhood memories,

watching Yankees games on my father’s shoulders,

dinosaurs at the Museum of Natural History,

the scent of chestnuts at Rockefeller Center,

and lighting candles in St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

 

You,

who let me ride the subways alone for the first time,

took the 1-9,

12 yrs. old with ripped Levis and a Drew Barrymore haircut,

cuttin’ school and sneaking to meet a boy at Manhattan Mall.

You who let me get my ear cartilage pierced when my parents said no.

My first love,

you,

opened doors for me,

in my teenage years,

with Broadway shows and trips to Tower Records for the newest Fugees album,

with Knicks games and Janet concerts at the Garden,

with summers of free Shakespeare in Central Park,

and 25-cent coquitos at my apartment corner.

Sitting on the stoop eating Rays Pizza or Mamou’s,

and sweet  summer nights at outdoor clubs.

 

You, who taught me about lust,

with meeting Hector in Herald Square or dancing salsa at Carbon with Omar,

versus best friend real love,

with Amish,

who let me find myself,

and didn’t care if we were eating on Columbus Ave. or rummaging for books at Strand or walking through street fairs in Battery Park.

 

I found my own style with you,

Looking for sneakers in Brooklyn,

To hitting up the village for new belly button rings,

and African scarves,

To trying on expensive dresses and shoes at Saks Fifth Avenue.

 

You led me to foreign films at Lincoln Center,

to art galleries near the piers,

to waiting in line to hear Salman Rushdie or Maya Angelou speak at bookstores in Union Square.

 

You, my love

Who taught me about reality,

With visits to soup kitchens in Harlem.

Reality,

kids crying from no food and babies restless from addiction,

I saw hurt.

In Harlem where you taught me of a history,

of her-story,

of Zora Neal Hurston and opened my heart to writing.

You,

who inspired me to romance my pen,

My first love,

You gave me courage to share,

in Alphabet City, you showed me the Nuyorican poetry slams,

And blew my mind away,

You blew my mind away.

 

In college, you, my love, taught me to love a new vision behind the lens,

with photos of lights tangled in trees in Times Square,

snaps of fathers holding daughters’ hands walking up the stairs of The Met,

eyes of tourists from far away lands at Ellis Island.

 

Click,

I captured hope.

 

My first love,

you empowered me,

Me,

with my student visitor pass to the UN,

feeling small in a big building and big in my own world for being there,

as I listened to changes being made for the world’s women, I felt it inside,

I felt it inside.

 

My love,

It was then for the first time I felt you sting my heart,

you taught me to console my friends who lost their parents and godmothers,

who couldn’t find their sister, or cousin or gay lover.

And you let it happen.

You let my world crumble for a moment,

with ignorance,

with hate slogans and fear,

you made me cry showing me post 9-11 memorials everywhere,

and a heavy feeling,

that won’t pass.

But you showed me strength and I grew to love you more,

and more.

It’s hard now being away from you,

my love,

things are different now.

I don’t see you that often and when I say I love it here,

 my new home,

I feel guilty,

sometimes,

like I’ve left you behind,

like I’ve forgotten where I’ve come from,

who knows me so well.

But I haven’t forgotten,

 and when I see you again,

it rushes back,

Scents and sounds and all of it,

fills me, takes over me.

My first love,

You make my knees weak,

you are my heart,

you give me soul,

and nothing can replace you.

It’s always been just you.

My first love,

New York, NY.

It’s you.