Orange and green garments:

                                          Elephants
                                                       Buddah
                                          Ghandi
                                                   The Kuma Sutra
             Sacred markings on foreheads,
                                                   above almond shape eyes.
                                     Dry spices
                Chicken slices
                                     and white rice

A meal that makes foreign tongues surrender.

This and more, as the incense burns,
as the sandal wood fragrance parts from the rising smoke trail and,
like spirits, surrounds the room.

Suddenly, the way hands discover slithering cobras in rice fields,
the wispy fabric and carpet-tumbleweeds underneath my palms, 
reel me back
“here”

‘”To scattered bills on the kitchen table,”
“to an empty fridge”
“to noisy neighbors”
“to her last words,”

Those threatening syllables.

The box read: en-joy and relax.

Next time, I’ll go with the longer incense.