Awakening

Bowls of oranges ripen in the Indian heat.
The princess lies beside you in a silken robe—
your infant son suckling at her breast.
Dancing women and musicians sleep off wine on embroidered rugs
as the moon tows the long night toward morning.
But you are awake
when the city’s sounds drift above the palace walls.

What was it you heard that night?
The groan of a feverish old man?
A widow grieving at the Ganges?
Or the thousand sighs of spent desire
shouting at the fading stars?

Was it happiness that drove you into the woods,
away from the grasp of your son’s perfect fingers?
The flames of the suffering world
must have blazed in your eyes
that last night.
And you—
so desperate, so brave—
did you pause at the threshold?
When happiness called your name
did you look back and whisper, “Forgive me?”


—Eric Nelson