Thursday, April 21, 2011


last night, adorned
with flowers on
a garland,
the monk handed me
literature, asked
if i wanted
the Bhagavad-Gita,
offered me clothing
for the times when
we gather to dance
and learn
what it means to accept
another’s culture

i try to imagine me -
wrapped in sari,
my pale face as obvious
as a beacon

we chant, Hare Krishna, Hare
Hare, Krishna, Krishna
my second time
uttering these words,
that all beliefs are really
one, if you boil them

my friend persuaded me here
free vegetarian dinner, and
i came for the Indian spices
i missed, from when my roommate
used to fill our house with the scent
of curry

left, wondering how
these people are so willing
to enfold me entirely, say:
“you don’t have to change
your religion to grow
as a person”
so i come, on sundays, to temple.
i grow.

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