mint tea: a summertime lyric

mint tea: a summertime lyric
(rabat, morocco)

that summer in rabat, i thought
about visas. so i thought
about paperweights – breakable
glass meant to 
hold you down, paper
woman. i try to be

one of those that stay 
living like the slow
pour of jade 
into glass, which is to say
green & at rest
for an extension, stirred
sometimes: for taste. 

that summer i murdered
baguettes on the countertop
after taking the train back from work. 
in the morning, the policeman called me
‘priyanka chopra’ & i 
laughed, thinking
if i let him
hold me there like the paper
weight on his desk, 
i would be able to 
fly away freely

& a visa is as small as a crumb
on my breakfast table. temporary 
thing to confirm
i am a temporary thing
too. 

that summer in rabat, i helped
my students fix their mistakes:
minor, like 2x is not x squared &
i may look it but i couldn’t be
from here anyway. 

“so what are you”
but always in flight, a moving 
photograph: flâneuse perched awhile 
on your window. i love the air
here, for once it feels so
good to breathe, slow & deep
for as long as you’ll let me 

root in your soil, delicate
as mint leaf.  

Vamika Sinha is the co-founder and Editor-in-Chief of Postscript Magazine.

Artwork by Simone Hadebe