Winter Internment Poem by Bernard Henrie

The Hindu News and Mumbai Shipping
Report across my lap like sheet
music, but the carriage-car too dim
for reading;

hedgerows slip behind, the train
descends into the hot climate
of Andhra Pradesh, mud villages
poke up, nameless.

I stop recording, put my notebook
aside. In my memory, the outside
light dissolves revealing a fine grain
on inlaid wall panels; the burnished
copper latches closing compartments
for the traveler's valise; the thick nap
of beaded black and green moquette
covering the seats, a faint toffee scent
and drowsy sweetness of a half-filled
car swaying into Indian countryside.

I contrast that journey with airline
trips today, crayon yellow night lights,
most passengers asleep,
a few illuminated by overhead lamps.

I buy chapatti from a train vendor
artfully balancing a food tray
around his neck and a milk gallon
carrier of steaming soup by his side.

Artfully you lifted an English foot
from the water; two-piece swimsuit
shimmering from the pool's deep end.
In the afternoon, a warm, cordial rain
clearing like migratory birds;
a smoking fireplace, the soft voice
of a musical performer; a rice thin
parasol for the breaking sun.

I desire to imbibe you, to consume
your lingering image furled in sheets,
intertwine my impression with your
feet across the sunburnt terrace;
to hold prisoner your white smile,
gaze stunned into the rust color
of your lipstick and eyelashes;

the hunt in our satin hour beside
the lasping tiger of Bandipur Reserve.

Later, in the frenetic isolation
of the Bangalore to Hyderabad Express
I think of my sins; a sunning, watering
animal resting in Second Class, stretched
empty paws.