To My God, Shiva

I walk briskly through mobs of people,
streets of cows, and try not to get hit
by a rickshaw so that I may worship my Goddess.

My Kurta pressed with close attention.
She will bestow on me money, happiness, children,
she will make me well.
I must hurry.

One hundred rupees for my flowers,
for Shiva’s flowers. As my Shiva
comes into full view I will stop.
I will breathe.

Stepping up her stairs I will brush the ground,
step, brush, step brush,
go down to my knees.

Her goodness fills me.
Her golden feet
guide me.
I hear sweet songs on the loud speaker,
red bricks permeate my feet
with warmth gathered from the sun.

I drop my rice at Shiva’s feet.
I will go so that I may see
Shiva’s hand make me well.