JANE KENYON
Sleepers in
Jaipur
A mango moon climbs the dark
blue sky. In the gutters of a market
a white, untethered cow browses
the day's leavings -wilted greens,
banana peels, spilt rice,
a broken basket.
The sleepers, oh, so many sleepers ...
They lie on rush mats in their hot
stick hut. The man and woman
want to love wildly, noisily.
Instead, they are quiet and efficient
in the dark. Bangles ring
as his mother stirs in her sleep.
Who can say what will come of
the quickening and slowing
of their breaths on each others'
necks, of their deep shudders?
Another sleeper, a gift of God,
ribs and shoulders to be clothed
in flesh ...
In the dusty garden the water
she carried from the well in a jug
balanced on her black hair
stares back at the moon
from its cool terra-cotta urn.
