by Rasma Haidri
Previously published in Switched on Gutenburg, 2018
After the funeral I unfurl
the rug my father brought
from India in 1951 —
a dairy farm appears in the middle, facing west,
a pony to the south,
shaggy brown, not bay
not copper, a color
that means he’s not there, never was, but here’s
the red corn crib, like Dalton’s
barn, patchwork quilt
painted on, orange mill, yellow house,
white roof,
green fields, corn
or tangled Sharad grapes, a Gulmohar tree
draped in fiery leaves,
strewn petals of maroon and pink
bower vines where my infant daughter sits
firmly planted among blooms of Shalimar Bagh,
one hand on a Moghul arch,
chalky-white as a Tellico silo
Rasma Haidri is the author of As If Anything Can Happen (Kelsay Books) and three
textbooks. Her writing appears in journals including Nimrod, Prairie Schooner, Sycamore Review, Fourth Genre and many anthologies. Her awards include the Southern Women Writers Association’s creative non-fiction award, Wisconsin Academy of Arts, Letters & Science’s poetry award, Riddled with Arrows’ Ars Poetica Prize and a Best of Net nomination. She lives on a Norwegian seacoast island with her artist wife. Visit her at rasma.org. On Twitter @rasmahaidri, on Instagram @rasmahaidri.
