The Day We Went To The Sea

The day we went to the sea mothers in Madras were mining the Marina for missing children. Thatch flew in the sky, prisoners ran free, houses danced like danger in the wind. I saw a woman hold the tattered edge of the world in her hand, look past the temple which was still standing, as she was — miraculously whole in the debris of gaudy South Indian sun. When she moved her other hand across her brow, in a single arcing sweep of grace, it was as if she alone could alter things, bring us to the wordless safety of our beds.