Wedding Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Wedding

She was my classmate
Had three times her age
She married…

Had called me, invited
I went and got there late
Party was strange! ! !

Women were Indians, in dress
Dark Skinned, shined grease…
Of Madras
Hair curly, but not the African
Of course not fallen as horse’s mane
Soft and long; Asian.

I saw her and hugged her, greetings
A photo, then led to food-table…

Uprooted ancestors, cultures changed
Music Indian, and make ups, and dress
No one does comprehend what is sung
The food is, in its look, Indian, is the taste?
People act islandic, Caribbean…
Heard Patwa…

I ate food and remained outsider,
If they were Indians
That wouldn’t have happened.

I recalled what she said when they fought…
The same man had left her, now husband…
She told me what went on between them
I was toy; catalyst, medicine, consultant
She was lost in culture, and love game.

Same groom in maroon, Indian
Is under single pain, “Indian”
Uprooted; lost homeland
Sword’s threat or bullet
Tricky promise or treat
Or faith in Britain…
Whatever …
I think her call and inviting…
To witness; or be warned: “You lost me I am…”