DEAR INDIA, DEAR AMERICA,

You’ve always been trying to kill me before there was
me there was my mother and her mother and yet still her
mother a long line now list of mothers who pinched pesas
and packed tiffins wrapped in small cloths for long roads by
long roads I mean men stealing buying following women
who are bitches anyways and don’t even have a pretty face I
mean the white woman at the nail salon tried to teach me
the powers of turmeric I mean my mom had to hide haldi
in the back closet so it wouldn’t stain so nobody would
think we’re dirty that she sends her children to school
unwashed I mean I don’t know how my nani got to India
I mean who told her not to talk about it I mean an old boss said
it’s not professional to bring personal problems to work
it isn’t the place to deal with your emotions I mean my
Nani left her personal problems in another country I mean
a country that is no longer her country I mean a country that is
no longer my country and another country that was never my
country I mean one time she made me lauke sabzi and roti
with yogurt in the dough and that was the last thing that felt like
home I mean my Nani didn’t bring her problems to work
I mean she was professional I mean all her countries were
work I mean her countries were home I mean her
countries tried to kill her I mean her countries I mean
my countries are not very professional don’t know the right
place to deal with their emotions

Sonia Aggarwal is a Boston-based poet with an MFA from Emerson College. She is interested in personal and cultural histories, and the moments in which the two intersect. Aggarwal is a previous Pushcart Prize nominee and has poems published in SWIMM, SoFloPoJo, Worcester Review, and others.