Something worth reading...

We have only one color to share between us. She lives in a green house a couple of blocks down from the four churches. I spend my days working in a red building on the far side of the city. At night, we cook a yellow curry and share it over naan. My baby blue boy sits on his thrown smiling and grinning. His eyes are his politics. Both are thrown about at will. He drops the undesirables over the side and they explode on the floor. "No, no, no!" he says. No green peas for me, mom, but how about some of that white yogurt? A compromise is made.

Everyday a dozen or so black hawks circle above the red brick buildings that sit on a hill. A white steeple I can see but still can't feel pierces the canopy of naked brown trees. I imagine myself standing in the middle of the intersection between the four corner churches. My eyes are closed and my head is tilted back to the grey sky. I face the hill that the red buildings sit on. I dream about this on my way west.

A fat brown ground hog runs like hell up the hill toward the buildings. A red fox smiles on his way to the office. Blue cheese for everyone he cries. I have fourteen sisters that live up north by a lake and I don't know any of them. They live in rooms on the second floor and bake bright blue pumpkin pies on Tuesdays. They forgot to get married and they have no children but the itsy, bitsy spider still runs up the water spout.

My son’s politics get in the way but I can still smell the yellow curry wafting from the stove. I place four green cardamoms on the big white empty plat; one each at the corners of the intersection. I imagine I am the white rice in the middle of the plate. My head is tilted back and my eyes are closed. My wife piles the steaming yellow curry onto my red face. The hawks circle high above. I am home again. This is Granville.