nostalgia

Music springs from the letter "y"
of the old fishpond toy.
I think of the small hotel room
Ashu jumping on the bouncy bed
the cold april air of Denver
and melting snowflakes as winter ends.
Of open spaces so vast
that a strange calm was cast.
no voices were heard
and no humans stirred.
only by the distant sounds
of rubber on the highway
punctuated by an occasional horn
was the silence torn.
The room smelt of indian spices
and steaming buttered chapatties
- familiar smells and tastes
that we consumed with longing
and washed down with tropicana juice.
I'd picked up the toy at K-mart
to keep ashu busy
in the room during the day.