About this poet

Aimee Nezhukumatathil is the author of Lucky Fish (Tupelo Press, 2011).

Wrap

Aimee Nezhukumatathil

I don't mean when a movie ends,
as in, it's a! Nor tortillas splitting
with the heavy wet of bean.
And I don't mean what you do

with your lavender robe all fluff
and socks to snatch the paper
from the shrubs. Nor the promise
of a gift, the curl and furl of red ribbon

just begging to be tugged. What I mean
is waiting with my grandmama (a pause
in the Monsoon) at the Trivandrum airport
for a jeep. Her small hand wraps

again the emerald green pallu of her sari
tucked in at her hips, across her breast, 
and coughs it up over her shoulder a hush
of paprika and burnt honey across my face.

From Miracle Fruit by Aimee Nezhukumatathil. Copyright © 2003 by Aimee Nezhukumatathil. Reprinted by permission of Tupelo Press. All rights reserved.

Aimee Nezhukumatathil

Aimee Nezhukumatathil

Aimee Nezhukumatathil is the author of Lucky Fish (Tupelo Press, 2011).

by this poet

poem

I have faith in the single glossy capsule of a butterfly egg.
I have faith in the way a wasp nest is never quiet

and never wants to be. I have faith that the pile of forty
painted turtles balanced on top of each other will not fall

as the whole messy mass makes a scrabble-run