Muffin Not For Housekeeping // No Country For Young Girls
Muffin Not For Housekeeping
the muffin sat on the counter
like a durga statuette stolen at night in Kathmandu
displayed in the Crow Museum of Art in office hours
open to air but not for taking
banana and walnut and sugar in a paper sari
I could only think of her
as I changed sheets in the small hotel
beat mattresses with gloved hands
and gave up on mold in toilet corners
I wanted to hold the fist-size muffin
unloved on a tray at the front desk for three hours
the rooms would never finish
the women would forever inspect
sisters who owned the hotel would also speak
a language I didn’t understand
in between sips of darker coffee, not for guests
if orange juice didn’t settle in a jug like sunset in the kitchenette
would I have turned the mirrors more spotless
perhaps folded towels like swans
would the sisters have kept me in the fourth hour
if I had not cradled the muffin in my apron
No Country For Young Girls
for Sarah
a neighborhood auntie
once warned me about boys and men
who pluck girls in uniforms
and push them
from dark vans at dawn
she had sons
who skipped to school
when I ran from windowless vans
even in streets too narrow
to squeeze in the sun
