Downpour In Pondicherry Poem by Bernard Henrie

I found her casually telling the maid
a plan to leave me for a younger man.
Half-bathed in sun by the tall windows
she wraps a sari over undergarments,
pausing to pleat and pin she looks
like a model posing for giclée prints;

the maid twines her twice 'round,
aquamarine print on a raw shoulder,
dark, taut stomach exposed beneath
the loose pallu.

The air fills with sparks, the weather
over the Pondicherry coastline breaks
into a downpour, the express train
zooms without looking back, the sun
is far away and can no longer hear us.

The maid withdraws and I put my ear
to the mollusk decoration at her bosom.
I hear ocean sounds; there is no more
talk of boys; I ransack the layers of silk
to discover hips, buttery to the touch.


I don blue aviator sunglasses, jodhpur
boots; my blood stirs itself to a frenzy,
but for long moments I blow chaff into
the mottled shadows of our afternoon.
Finally, taking divine pleasure I spank.

Afterwards she coos like a gliding
swan, asks what she can say tomorrow
to ignite a fierce storm over the sea.