A couple more poems from Molly
Molly with her homestay family, McLeod Ganj Dharamsala
Old Woman at Likir Monastary
A face like clothing worn long and worked hard in,
threadbare, dark, and familiar
wrinkles like radiant star beams,
teeth gone on to make more room for smiling.
Om mani padme hum!
Emphasis on the last syllable,
Walking clockwise around prayer wheels and westerners,
looking us straight in the eye
and teaching us how to be compassionate.
We stay in an El Cockroachie Inn,
Indian style, air conditioner growling
so loud I can't hear myself
So it won't be until after Agra
that I remember the way
my dad laughs,
when he tells stories
about old Forest Service buddies,
homebrew in hand--
and the way my mom
takes just a taste of beer
and tells Dad to chop less peppers
for the stir fry tonight
while Garrison Keilor shares
the news from Lake Wobegon--
and the way they keep their eyes open
for travel-stained lodgings,
keep them open
(like my roommate in Agra does)
for cockroaches in the shower.