Lily told me she was feeling out of touch with the world because of all the craziness happening and was nostalgic for times that never happened. She wanted a poem that would be cathartic and asked me to use the word “turmeric.”

For: Lily

Baby mobile turning with the grace of a key that’s met its lock
In these first months; unafraid of doors that could open in the dark




With cherub-softness gone: Aged, and coming undone    
To teethe through tragedy is to wait for disaster to erupt  
Believe, she was once soothed by sea-sawing motion,
and without two feet to stand on, befriended unsteadiness




Even when swaddled in uncertainty, 
lullabies heard from the cloistered crib,
this dim, sheltered corner of the world she turns into, 
are not less sweet




Never begged to see another turmeric - hued sunrise, then
But it came — And still devoted, it comes for her

From: Maya