The courtyard of the Tourist Reception Center is bordered by red, red rose bushes. Wild flowers grow along dank walls. Screaming fury of a night train bearing a sweet name brought me from Delhi to Jammu. This is my home. A hindu woman in pale blue silk, found dead underneath a Chinar tree, four kilometers from the Tourist Reception Center.
Strawberries sown into silk blink at police lights, clinging to hope.
A thin moon wrings her hands, leaning over a weeping willow. An earth gray body bag is flown quickly to my pale faced husband. He alone can do the last rites, light a sacred fire for me. My soul has freed itself. Apples almond blossoms are my bare shoulders.