Souvenir

After the tinsel chase the paper fight
the bauble bouncing popper-patting morning,
Emma's cat leaps to my patch of sun;
investigates the Indian cushion.

His nose a sneeze away from wisps of silk,
he whiskers across velvet, patchwork, braid,
touching and not touching, breathing in circles,
misting the shisha mirrors, crimson silver beige.

In widening ripples of chain stitch,
he pulls me into his mantra; spirals of spices,
sandalwood, cow dung, elephant breath,
to pink dust of Rajasthan.