Waiting for Sleep, I Imagine Sita in Her Youth

She hid all day in a tree,

ate guavas rubbed with salt and pepper,

stalked the long-haired cat, begged

for rotis, ghee and sugar,

watched as her mother dressed

bangles stacking her arms like gauntlets.

From the window she could see

women from every corner of the city

walk straight into the river, disappear

then rise clean, saris soaking.

She drank milk from a hammered brass cup,

around her aunts and cousins unrolled their sleeping mats.

Of course a woman oiled her hair.

Of course a woman lined her eyes.

The inner world was made of women,

they filled her stomach, mouth, breath.

What do I need to see embroidered

in my mind’s own dark? This girl

young enough to fall asleep. This dream

taking her into its current

so we might both rise ready

to wring out the story.