In spring
I return to wonder
as a camel calls upon
water from its hump,
I return to wonder
carving it
from emaciated air
inducing it—
not from the
rubbing of genie lamps,
the recitation of wishes,
puffs of smoke,
the palming of cards,
but from irises
pushing up in their patch,
bursting through soil,
valiant purple.
I return to wonder
snatching it
from the press of should-dos
distilling it
from the tug
of schedule and event
to my involuntary present.
Without wonder
I might bear winter
in me always
Then
there might be
nothing to admire
beyond my own being.
So in spring,
I return to wonder.
~ from Red Silk, An Anthology of South Asian
Canadian Women Poets (Mansfield Press, 2004)
