Red, Orange, Green, Blue, Gold, Pink! Every color imaginable circles the room, and glides between doorways. Indian women greet you at every step as you walk through the festival. Namaste! Namaste! There is no escaping their tender tugs and pulls to fix your sari, or straighten the bindi adorning your forehead. Today is a great day of celebration . . . for no particular reason. Today they've gathered simply to celebrate life. Hands adorned and painted, and jewelry dripping from ears and necks. If the sun were to pierce through deep violet curtains the glare would blind you. The soft tingling of a single anklet echoes upon the ankles of hundreds of women. Hundreds of women that create a veiled mass one can only sway with. The smell of curry is so overwhelming that you smell of it weeks after. It seeps into your pours and you forget yourself.

white face stands out
in a sea of color
curry perfumed with jasmine

swimming in circles
I see myself within the glass
trapped

a dandelion brushes
her lashes
spring wishes