The tenth of March
the package arrived
on a chilly, windy, clear, sunny day
The same day I saw from my desk window
a Swallow-tailed Kite slowly flying close circles
around a Red-tailed Hawk – as though
in
conversation
The package has just returned from India
with wrapping crumbled, torn, dirty – and a
dangling yellow tag marked from Mumbai
Crisscrossed by tightly tied yarn with one
strand purposely sealed with blob of black wax
Oops – a stink bug landed on top of the package
I fetch a piece of toilet paper, and moisten
one side, in case the bug needs a drink
I nudge the bug onto the tissue
and place both beneath a dark glass on
bedroom dresser – with a Post-it note to
remind me to release the bug in next day’s sun
Now, back to The Package
Yes, it had been opened and then resealed
it contains a book
I sent to one of its authors
a strip of brown packaging tape is imprinted with
red letters
“Foreign Post Mumbai” and red letters
in Indian
which I assume say the same
From my home to distant land
and back again
Like the stink bug beneath the glass
Where will it go?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem