The Far Field

by Madhuri Vijay

He had the intelligent man’s faith in the weight of his own ideas, and the emotional man’s impatience

with anyone who did not share them.

perils of blind faith. She would hear him impassively

Hari took his role as poor, struggling artist seriously and accepted only the cash.

the thick ropes of rain,

understand that a person’s first tendency is to freeze, to go numb and wait for something else, equally big, to come along and cancel out the first thing.

Kashmir, the ponderous head that had always seemed too much for its awkward, tapering body.

The same look as before, so private and profound it felt like an indecency even to witness it.

reliability of my legs propelling me forward,

My mother was no longer in the room, no longer anywhere. I said in a whisper,

consecrated by their first exposure to yoga and the poor?

Without action, there is only waiting for death,’”