The City And I by Arundhati Subramaniam

            (returning to Bombay after November 26, 2008)


            This time we didn't circle each other
            
            hackles raised,
            
            fur bristling.


            This time there was space
            
            between us -
            
            and we weren't competing.


            
            Space enough and more


            for the nose-digging librarian
            
            and her stainless steel tiffin box,


            for the Little Theatre peon to read me

            his Marathi poems

            on rainy afternoons


            for the woman on the 7.10 Bhayandar slow

            with green combs in her hair

            to say

            and say again,

            He's coming to get me.

            He's coming


            This time
            
            the city surged
            
            towards me


            mangy
            
            bruised-eyed
            
            non-vaccinated


            suddenly
            
            mine.