Andhra Pradesh

Andhra Pradesh

Half the men in the village had killed themselves
By drinking pesticide they were in debt to Monsanto for.
The other half of the men were their fathers and sons.

There was a British woman there already, working 
On her dissertation. She told me about the toll
Writing about the dead farmers had taken on her.

She’d gotten sunstroke, become delirious, talked
In tongues. The widows had squatted around her,
Fanning her, forcing her to drink something bitter.

She told me she went into the temple I had seen
From the bus, its doors draped in chains, the statue 
Of Ganesha inside buried in so many flowers

Only his trunk was visible. But, she wanted to be clear, 
She hadn’t left the bed. The part of us that dreams
Had slipped away and gone into the temple to pray.

She was better now, her dissertation nearly done.
She had only one chapter left to write, and for that
She needed to wait to see what would happen.

Seeming to really look at me for the first time, 
She asked me what I was doing in Andhra Pradesh.
I told her my father was a farmer. Out of what

Must have been habit, she said she was sorry.