Indian Bride

One of my very first, from late 2003

Silk and jewels
drape her delicate, brown arms.
Hundreds of bangles jangle--
It’s the song of her wedding day.

Tranquil sitar notes
roll through the sultry air
Golden strings hang from her lobes,
her eyes close. They pray.

This day has been her life.
She is a criminal.
They watch her,
barely daring to breathe.

She’s an emerald gift,
Painted and jeweled,
a Hindu delight,
draped in silky otherness.

But tomorrow she’ll join her sisters,
blind and bound.
Her skin, pink and scabbed
as the morphine drips and ticks
out the seconds of her life.